


Cause and Effect - Book 1: Finding Balance

by Faylinn_Night



Series: The Cause and Effect Saga [1]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2014), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Action & Romance, Aliens, Awkward Crush, Awkward Romance, Brotherly Bonding, Emotional Baggage, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family, Family Drama, Family Issues, Friendship/Love, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Mutants, Nightmares, Original Character(s), Personal Growth, Plot Twists, Psychotic break, Sci-Fi, Sibling Bonding, Team as Family, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-02-28 10:16:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 103,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2728619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faylinn_Night/pseuds/Faylinn_Night
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After tragedy scares the brothers away from patrol, Turtle Luck sets off a domino effect stemmed from Mikey's kindness.  It forces the brothers to face an imbalance within their hearts while solving the mystery around Nia Anders.  Tension runs deep, alliances forge, enemies rise, and relationships are tested.  Will truth bring balance to the clan?  Or will chaos consume them before they save anyone?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coping

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first TMNT fanfiction. It's been posted on FF.Net, back in October. But it's being revamped. So as I update, I'm adding chapters here. I have two good friends who have helped me BETA and if we missed anything, we're sorry. LOL.
> 
> Disclaimer: TMNT belongs to Eastman and Laird and/or Nick (not sure at this point). Nia Anders and other OCs belong to me. Thanks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jonin = top-ranked ninja  
> Chūnin = ninja rank just below Jonin

 

* * *

 **T** he shoji screen slid shut behind Hamato Leonardo with a ‘thunk’ before he ventured forward.

“My son, have you brought tea?”  Splinter’s question barely carried across the room lit by thousands of candles.  Still, his son’s skilled ears picked it up.  The Jonin nodded, watching behind pained eyes as his father lifted his body from a worn futon.

“I have, Otōsan,” Leo answered.   His feet were silent against the tatami mats as he arrived by Splinter’s side.  “I even added honey and lemon.”

The mutant rat pushed his comforter to his waist then situated himself into a seated position.  “Such actions were unnecessary,” he said.  Withered paws reached for the steaming mug that Leonardo offered, trembling.  “Jasmine’s natural flavors are soothing enough.”

“Perhaps.”  Leo smiled.  “But since you’ve been drinking so much recently, I thought a little spice would be a nice change.”

Splinter spared a moment to savor the beverage then spoke again, “Thank you, Leonardo.  This brew does my spirit good.”

Leon hummed his approval then kneeled on a thin pillow that served as a zabuton beside his father’s futon.  Carefully—so as not to seem obvious—he studied the master for any signs of discomfort.  He found none, save for some stiff movement.

Splinter enjoyed his tea in silence, which brought a sparkle to the old rat’s eye that cast a smile on Leonardo’s face.  That is until his thoughts drifted elsewhere.

Within the last year, the Hamato brothers had noticed something discouraging.  Old age was creeping up on their father.  At first, it didn’t seem like such a terrible occurrence.  Everyone ages, after all, and it had been years since the master last fought in a battle worthy of his skills.

Even so, when the mutant rat’s health shifted from incapable of performing a strong kick to hardly walking, the siblings’ worry grew tenfold.  Splinter’s movements became rigid, his balance unsteady.  Now he spent more time in bed than anywhere else.   Times had passed where he instructed a lesson or caught-up on his ‘stories.'  Said days were few and far between, though.

Too far for Leonardo’s liking.

Splinter hated how his sons fretted.  Yet how could a son not worry for their parent?  Didn’t the clan’s health fall under Leo’s responsibility as Jonin, as a leader?  Perhaps overcaution drowned out reasoning.  Perhaps Leo assumed too much.  Still, he found himself succumbing to fear.

‘ _I'm being_ _silly,_ ’ the mutant thought.  ‘ _This must be Arthritis.  He doesn’t want to bother April, but I should ask her if anything can be done.  See if she can get medicine for his joints.  He’ll bounce back eventually.  He has to…_ ’

“Leonardo.”

“Yes, Sensei?”

Sighing, Splinter shook his head.  “I am alright.”

“I know,” Leo said with a frown.  “I just wish there was something more I could do.”

“There is.  Continue looking after your brothers.  Give them guidance and strength to keep them on the right path.  Knowing you have such matters handled brings me peace.”

Leonardo flinched.  “Sensei?   I know you mean well, but…can you please not talk like that?  It sounds too much like what one would say on their—”

“I will not live forever,” Splinter interjected, solemn.  “But my time is not now, nor anytime soon.  Do not worry.”  The master outstretched an arm and placed a hand over that of his pupil’s.

Leonardo’s throat tightened at such a frail site.  “How can you be so sure?  I’ve seen how suddenly life can change.  That can’t happen with you.”

A pregnant pause followed—thick and unsettling—until Splinter broke it.

“Where are your brothers?” he asked.

“Well,” started Leo, “Don’s working.  He’s been pulling longer shifts than I’d like.  Raph’s with Casey.  Told him I was against him patrolling, but as usual, he blew me off.  Mike’s sleeping, I think.  He’s been spending a lot of time in his room.”

“Raphael is topside?”  A vague emotion washed over the elder mutant.  Even Leonardo was unable to tell if his master was relieved or anxious.

“Yes,” Leo replied, “though he may not be having such a good time.”

“Why do you say that?”

The Jonin grinned.  “Just desserts.”

### ━❖━

Hamato Raphael glared at the rain falling beyond _Second Time Around_ ’s front windows.  It was late Friday night, and he had planned to patrol with his best friend.  Their plans, however, were put on hold due to a sudden, impressive storm.  While a drizzle may have been bearable, a late-summer torrent was another matter. 

“Damn weather!” Raph yelled, his Brooklyn accent clear and heated.  “This is just our luck!”

“Least we know there ain’t gunna be scum hangin’ around tonight,” Casey added in a similar accent.  “Ya can’t even see a foot in front ’a ya.”

“Shut up, Case.”

“Oi, I didn’t make it rain.”

“You boys still moping?”  An amused voice captured the males’ attention. 

They turned from the shop’s register desk to face April.  She shut the door that led to her apartment and flashed a lopsided grin before retrieving a box of packed dishware located on a nearby countertop.

“What do ya think, Ape?” Raph asked.  “I was really lookin’ forward ta bashin’ some heads in.” 

April shot the mutant a sharp look then transported her new burden to a display shelf at store’s center.

“Don’t mind him, Babe,” Casey said.  “He’s just goin’ stir-crazy.  It’s been a while since our last patrol.”

 “How long exactly?”  Backpedaling from the unpacked box, April glanced in her friends’ direction.

“Forever,” Raph mumbled.  Neither human noted it.

“Uh…”  Casey paused for several moments.  “Three weeks?”

“Five,” Raph corrected.

“Really?  Don’t feel like it.”

April giggled—an act which earned a glare from her mutant friend.  “Having a job does that, Casey,” she said.  “All the days blend together to the point where you can’t tell when’s Wednesday and when’s Monday.  Well, maybe you can tell with Monday.”

Casey joined in her laughter.  “I’ve noticed.”

“How fortunate for ya.”  Although his attention had already returned to the storm, Raphael could sense the man’s displeasure.

“Ya don’t gotta bite our heads off,” Casey snapped.  “It’s just a little rain.  We’ll patrol later.”

“Sure.  Whatever.”

“Look.”  The broad-shouldered human moved, so he stood before Raph.  “Pick a night.  If I don’t got it off, I’ll request it.  How about that?  What’s wit’ the damn face?”

“Raph, are you okay?” April asked.  Her annoyance morphed into concern, and she stopped tinkering with a tea set to approach her friend.

Raph, however, shrugged off the hand she placed on his shoulder.  “I’m peachy,” he hissed.

“You don’t seem ‘peachy.'”

“I’m _fine_.”

“I beg ta differ,” added Casey.  His tone was gruff from his own temper.  “Generally, when ya say ya’re fine, it means the opposite.”

The Chūnin glared.  “Ya don’t get it, do ya?”

“Get what?  Yer broodiness?  Not at all.”

“Seriously?  I’ve been lookin’ forward ta this night all week.”

“Ya sound like a girl, Man.”

“Fuck off!  It’s not like we can go patrollin’ on a whim anymore.  No, ya had ta go an’ become ‘responsible,' get a job.”

“I need money ta live, Raph.  Ya expect me ta scrounge for the rest ‘a my life?”

“Course not!  But we barely…”  Raph’s voice trailed off into a sigh, though his jaw and fists remained clenched.

For a long moment, the trio remained silent.  Then, April moved forward.

“Raph,” she started softly, “if it’s more than missing Casey or patrol, you can tell us.”

Raphael’s gaze met April, questioning yet also contemptuous.

After a deep breath, the redhead continued.  “Irritability is natural, especially for you.  But letting that baggage fester isn’t healthy.  I mean…there wasn’t much you could’ve done.”

“ _That_ ain’t got anythin’ ta do wit’ this, April,” Raph spat.

“It doesn’t?”

“No.  I just needed some fun.  Leo keeps us on lockdown, an’ every chance I get ta do somethin’ wit Casey, shit gets in the way.  Always!”  Growling, Raph drove his foot into the register desk’s broadside.  The force of his toes cracked the plywood and caused several antiques on its surface to vibrate dangerously.

“Watch it, Raph!” snapped April.  “Those rare items are on layaway.  If you must to take your anger out on something, Casey’s right there.”

“Hey!” Casey cried.

“Listen,” the redhead continued, “I know life’s been tough.  I really, really do.”  The pleading in her tone nearly convinced the mutant that she did.  “It hurts since you guys won’t confide in me.  Not even Donny.  I—I can’t do anything more than lend an ear.  Sometimes that’s enough, though.  Not to seem insensitive, but some things…some things you—you just have to let go.  Otherwise,” April shook her head, her voice lowering to a whisper, “they’ll destroy you.”

“What are ya, my psychiatrist?”  Raph snorted.  “I hear enough ‘a this crap from Master Splinter.  I don’t need it from ya too.”

A frown settled on April’s face, and she gritted her teeth at the mutant’s nonchalant wave.  “Will you take me seriously?”

“Sorry, Ape.  Lettin’ go ain’t easy.”

“I never said it was.”

“Ya don’t know anything, so let me be.”

“I can’t, Raph.  All I want is to help.  But you guys won’t let me.  Why?”  Tears welled in April’s eyes.  She took cautious steps towards the Chūnin and the moment her fingertips brushed his bicep, he backed away as if avoiding acid.

“I don’t need help,“ he said.

“Raph—“

“Rain’s stopped.  Suddenly, I don’t feel like goin’ out.”

“C’mon, Man,” Casey interjected.  “What about our plan?”

Amber eyes met those of steely blue.  ‘ _We could go_ ,’ Raph thought, ‘ _but he’d pry the whole time.  It’s none ‘a their business how I cope._ ’  

In the end, Raph saw his way to the store’s back door.  He heard the claps of Casey’s boots against the wood floor as the man raced forward, although they ceased when April spoke up.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said.  “It wasn’t any of your faults.”

The mutant almost cringed, his fingers gripping the back door’s handle.  “Tell that to them,” he muttered.

Then, he was gone.

### ━❖━

Despite Hamato Michelangelo’s cautiousness with the weather forecast, Turtle Luck seemed to favor that rare two-percent of participation.  It hadn’t been a light shower, either.  It had been a downpour of pins and needles that numbed his body even in the warm temperature of an August night.

Naturally, the Chūnin had failed to dress for such an occasion.  By the time he found refuge beneath a manhole cover, his hoodie and sweatpants were drenched.  He had stripped and stuffed the clothes in his duffle bag not ten minutes ago, but shivers still wracked his body.

“I better not get sick,” Mikey said through chattering teeth.

Rubbing his biceps, he sneezed then grimaced at the thought of being bed-ridden with a cold.  No doubt Leo would fuss over him as he did with their father.  Though the youngest Hamato disliked the idea of explaining why he was sick more so than actually being ill.  After all, he was supposed to be sleeping.

‘ _But how could I?_ ’ he thought.  ‘ _It’s Friday.  I can’t stop cold turkey.  Not yet.  Leo says my visits are unhealthy.  The way I see it, they have their own means of coping.  Why deny me mine?_ ’

“Leo just doesn’t want me away from the Lair,” Mikey told no one in particular.  “Overprotective dope.  Hum…maybe I should wait before heading home.  At least until these shivers stop.”

Yeah, that sounded like a grand idea.  Mikey nodded in approval, convinced until a raspy noise stopped him.

Eee!  Hoo!  Eee!  Hoo!

‘ _What was that?_ ’

Michelangelo’s shoulder jerked and his breath hitched as he surveyed his surroundings.  The underground lighting revealed little about the grimy tunnels.  Even so, Mikey’s eyes were trained for darkness.  As far as his baby blues could tell, he trekked home solo.  Then again, these old passages were famous for carrying sound, so pinpointing the noise’s origin was near impossible.

Mikey shivered.

Anything could be out there.  Giant spiders whose sizes rivaled double-decker buses.  Evolved sharks that now walked on land.  Deranged hobos feasting on rotten trash.  Rabid strays from New Y'Lyntius.  Mikey considered all these plots viable and feared discovering which one was reality.

Leonardo—even Donatello—held stronger nerves when it came to eerie mysteries.  Not this Hamato brother.  He considered turning back, choosing an alternate route.  Unfortunately, said route involved going topside again.

 _‘I can’t get any wetter than this.   Leo would grill me if he found out.  Guess it’s possible the creepy sounds are just, ya know, monsters.  I can handle monsters.  Sort’a…Man, what to do?_ ’

Groaning, the Chūnin chose the lesser of two evils.  With baited breath and a pounding heart, he tiptoed forward.   A new shiver ran up his spine.  Still, he continued towards a bend in the waterway.  The strange sounds increased in volume, and after rounding the corner, Mikey could identify them without a doubt.

‘ _Hyperventilating?  Why on earth is someone down here?_ ’

The gallant mutant longed to cry out, ‘Don’t worry, I got ya!’  But chances were slim that he’d be well-received, even if he were human.  New Yorkers cherished cynicism as a survival tool.  This tool made it difficult for the Hamato brothers to earn anyone’s approval.   Forget the fact they were in a sewer.

‘ _Alright, slow an’ easy it is.  Slow an’ easy._ ’

Michelangelo remained within the tunnel’s darkness as he crept closer.  A figure slouched against the curved wall, heaving.  Judging by the vague silhouette, it had to be a female whose hips were notably wider than her shoulders.  When his eyes adjusted further, Mikey noted dirt soiling everything from her ripped jeans and comic-print shirt to her Converse and frazzled, dark hair.  In all honesty, it looked like she’d skidded several feet in a barren baseball field after being denied a shower for a month.

‘ _Bet she’s seen better days._ ’

Mikey halted at the shadow’s boundary to study the pale young woman.  She cringed, and her fingernails scraped the concrete behind her in slow, shaky motions.  Though not a medic, Michelangelo had seen enough television to know she’d pass out if not calmed.  Not that it’d be too terrible since it meant the absence of premature accusations and screaming.  Still, the mutant couldn’t abandon someone in the rain.  Besides, who would she be left with even if he did find convenient shelter?

‘ _If worse comes to worse, I’ll get April.  Until then, here goes nothing._ ’

“Excuse me, are you okay?”  The brunette gave no answer, so Michelangelo repeated, “Are you okay?”

Again, no answer.  Mikey frowned.  Maybe she couldn’t hear over her hyperventilating?

“Hey!” the Chūnin cried.  “Are you okay?”

As Mikey’s question echoed off the walls, the brunette’s breathes slowed enough for her to talk between breaths, “Leonardo DaVinci's—Mona Lisa—was once—valued—at a—hundred million—dollars.  It’s worth—has only—skyrocketed—“

“Uh…”

“Edgar Degas—became so—infatuated—with ballet dancers—that he— felt—compelled to—to represent them—in his works—“

“M—Miss?”

“The first pigments—used in—paintings—were ground from—earth—minerals—and—and organic—matter—”

“Miss?”

“The word ‘cartoon’—originates from—“

“Miss, please!  You gotta calm down.  Now.”

The young woman grew silent, rigid.  Nothing more than her puffing chest and searching eyes moved as she sunk further down the sloped wall.  Instinct urged Michelangelo towards deeper shadows, yet the brunette’s vision soon glanced over him near half a dozen times.  This built confidence in his position, so he remained still.

“There you go,” he said.

The brunette pressed herself against the wall then swallowed, whispering, “So yo—I mean, I’m really being…talked to?”

“Uh, yes?”

“Wh—where are you?”

“Close enough to see you’re about to pass out.”

“Y—you won’t… hurt me…will you?”

The orange-masked mutant shook his head, although he couldn’t be seen.  “No.  I’m here to help, actually.  You seem…uncomfortable.”

“I—I—I—“  Labored inhaling cut off the brunette, and Mikey frowned.

“Come on now,” he urged.  “Take deep breaths.”

“C—c—can’t.  T—too hard.”

“No, it isn’t.  You were doing it earlier.  Not fully, but it was a start.”

The young woman shook her head of wild hair, now clenching her chest and screwing her eyes shut.  “N—no.  Can’t.  Claustro—phobic.”

“Well, that’s…perfect.  What are you doing here then?”  If her sniffles were any indicator, her trip down under wasn’t by choice.   “Hey,” Mikey attempted to regain the brunette’s attention.  “It’s fine.  You don’t have to tell me.  Just let me help, alright?”

Slowly, she nodded.

“Okay,” Mikey said, “but you gotta promise something first.”

The brunette’s eyes shot open.  “L—like what?”

“Don’t be scared.  It’ll help you breathe.  Kay?”

“O—Okay.”

“Close your eyes and keep them closed.  Imagine you’re in a wide, open field surrounded by fresh air and blue skies.  You’re free with no worries.”  As he spoke, Mikey inched towards the young woman until he stood beside her.  She twitched but never disobeyed.  “Keep that one thought in mind,” Mikey added.  “I’ll take you topside then you’ll need to find your own way home.  Sound good?”

“U—uh-huh.”

“Cool.  I’m gunna take your hand, alright?  Pretend I’m, uh, your brother.”

“I—I’m an only child.”

“So I’m your father, uncle.  Whoever you feel most comfortable around.  Now, I don’t need a home address, but a general direction would help.”

The brunette hesitated, but after some thought said, “I—I live east of—of Central Park, between Yorkville a—a—and Upper East Side.  Near eighty-fourth and fifth.”

“Dude, that’s, like, over twenty-five blocks away.  I’ll take you as far north as I can.  How about that?  Grab my arm and follow me.”  Michelangelo placed his forearm—wrapped snuggly in his damp sweatpants—under the brunette’s hand then began walking.

The journey was quiet, sans the faint noise of rushing water.  The brunette seemed content in her dreamscape, and Mikey refused to rob that comfort from her by asking questions.  He kept a steady pace instead, debating on a good place to surface.  He resolved to use the manhole cover located in an alley on East Fifty-Fifth Street.  The young woman tripped when Michelangelo stopped, even though there was nothing to trip on.

‘ _Silly girl,_ ’ Mikey thought, head shaking.

“Here we are,” he said.  “I’ll let you climb the ladder.  Towards the left, there’s a bus stop.  It’s not too late, so they should still be picking up.  Sorry if it’s still raining.  This is the best I can do.”

“Th—that’s fine,” the brunette replied.

Reluctant, she released Mikey’s arm then opened her eyes for the first time in half an hour.  She blinked at the empty space Michelangelo left, and when she twisted her head over her shoulder, the mutant repressed a chuckle.  Several more moments she stood there as if testing if she were alone before climbing the ladder.  She left behind nothing more than a soft ‘thanks.’

Mikey smiled at the manhole cover as it slid back in place, whispering, “You’re welcome.”


	2. Guardian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some Donny (for those missing him). :)

 

* * *

 **H** amato Donatello reclined in the leather chair stationed at his main computer desk—if one could call such a cluttered workspace of jerry-rigged scavengings anything of the sort.  A shrill voice chattered over his phone line.  It made him pull his headset away in a vain attempt to soothe his headache.

‘ _I hate it when customers assume we’re the dumb ones_ ,’ he thought.  ‘I _f they’re so smart, why call in the first place?_ ’

By now the mutant ignored the hysterical woman, a teacher who found herself lost at the complexity of a new operating system.  Instead, he gave occasional grunts.  He reached beside his mounted computer monitor for his best friend when under pressure—a mug April had gifted for his Mutation Day five years ago.

It stood about half-a-foot tall with a smooth lip and bubbly body modeled after a grenade.  On one side, a white plaque stood out amongst the frame of muted green surrounding it.  The phrase ‘Complaint Department. Please take a number.’ was stenciled in a military font across it.  Don wished more than ever that he could tell his client just the same.

‘ _But I know better.  Least I have you._ ’  Donatello smiled at the mug then brought it towards his lips for a sip.  ‘ _Ah, good stuff.  Wonder when this lady will be done yelling.  I have other things to do…like train._

_‘It’s been a while.   Raph’s always in the dojo, though.  Last time he broke my bō.  I shouldn’t shy from sparring, but Sensei’s also taught us to pick our battles.  Raph should just admit he’s angry at himself, not at what happened…’_

The genius sighed.  ‘ _That idiot isn’t the only one hurting…_ ’

“Yo, Donny!”

Donatello excused himself from his call then swiveled from his workstation to the brick archway behind him.  Leonardo stood in its cavity, his features grim, his stance imposing.  No doubt he lacked answers and Don happened to be his next lucky victim.

“Yeah?” Don asked carefully.

“Have you seen Mikey?”

“Not since breakfast.”

Leo cursed in Japanese and slammed the wall with a tight fist.

Don wasted no time in placing the irate woman on hold before gracing the eldest Hamato with his full attention.  “Have you asked Raph?”

“Of course,” Leo snapped.

“How about Sensei?”

“Would I still be standing here if I had anyone else to ask?”

Although a good point, Don frowned.  “I’m not having a good day either, Bro.  I’m just trying to help.”

The blue-masked mutant held his breath then released it.  “Sorry.”

‘ _He looks tired…_ ’

“If not in the Lair, he’s probably getting some fresh air.  I’m sure he hasn’t wandered far.  You need him for anything?”

Umber eyes fell on the concrete floor as the Jonin shifted weight onto his left leg.  “I just wanna know where he is.”

“Leo—“

“Stop, Donny.  I have a right to know where he is.”

“You can’t monitor him forever.”

“As head of this clan, it’s my responsibility to do just that.”

“He’s twenty-three.”

“So?”

“So?  Hell, Leo, don’t do this to yourself.  I want Mikey safe too, but you’re gunna worry your shell right into an early grave.”

Leo straightened, arms crossed, and spoke in a heated tone, “And you’re doing  _what_  exactly?“

The genius’ fingers twitched.  “I’m making extra cash, is all,” he answered, soft.

“Like spending half your income on coffee plays no part.”

“You drink coffee too.”

“Not nearly as much as you.”

“Don’t turn this around on me.  I’m fine.”

Leo snorted.  “Really?  Since when do eighteen-hour shifts all week equal ‘fine’?”

“We gotta eat.”

“Not that much.”

“Then it gives me something constructive to do.”

“You complain about my worry being unhealthy?  Right now, you’re a prime example as to why I worry.  You work too much!”

“Well  _someone_ in this clan has to!”  Donatello felt as if he had been sucker punched when Leonardo’s anger faulted.  He fell back in his chair then pinched the bridge of his beak to avoid the hurt eyes lingering on him.

“I just…”  Leo sighed.  “I don’t want you sick again.  Sorry.  I’m going to find Mikey.”

“Leo!” Don called out.  It was too late; his brother had already left.  “Great.”

“Hello?  Is anyone there?  Hello!”

Donatello scrambled back to his call.  Strange, it seemed the line was still broadcasting.  “Ah, sorry, Sir—ugh—Miss!  What was your problem again?”

### ━❖━

Michelangelo stretched before repositioning himself along a building’s thick ledge.  Now balanced between his forearm and bent leg, he resumed his survey.  The usual chaos of honking traffic and bustling crowds echoed from ten stories below while a warm draft rose from the asphalt.

A comforting night, for sure.  Yet its harmony didn’t distract the Chūnin.  He had a job, an important one: being a guardian.  Over whom?  Well…

After helping that young woman, Mikey had a hard time concentrating on anything else.  Thoughts of her ate at his mind with morbid curiosity to the point where he couldn’t help wondering what happened.

How long had she been in the sewers?  Was she bullied into them?  Do adults even encounter bullies of that caliber?  It seemed so grade school.  At least, that’s what he gathered from movies.  Then there was the mud.  Not even his clan got dirty that much, and they lived in the sewers.  What’d she do, roll on a construction site?

‘ _A bad night like that must make for an intense story._ ’

The tabs started unintentionally.  Honest!  An innocent trip towards Madison had brought Mikey to some restaurants, where he spotted the same brunette crossing the street with takeout.  He had followed her on impulse and since learned which apartment building she lived in.  Over the last week, he studied her schedule bit by bit.

Bit by bit, now.  The Chunin.  He never lingered long.  By Wednesday he had deduced that the brunette left near eleven at night then returned at one in the morning.  Those times concerned Mikey the most.  He looked after her for two hours, just long enough to ensure she came home safe.  That wasn’t so creepy, was it?

‘ _Of course, regularity could count against me._ ’

“Enjoying the weather, Mikey?”

Michelangelo froze—breath and all.  He dreaded turning but knew he had little choice.  Who better to greet him than his less-than-thrilled eldest brother?

“Yo, Leo,” Mikey said.  “Sup?”

Leonardo sent a stern look.  “What are you doing?”

“A better question would be: ‘How'd you find me?’”

“I tracked your Shell Cell, Dope.”

“Oh.  Right.  I knew I forgot to forget something.”

The Jonin sighed.  “I don’t even want to consider what you’re up to.  Let’s just go home.”

“No,” Mikey yelped.  “I, uh, I’m in the middle of something.”

“Really?  Because it looks like you’re people watching.  Perhaps patrolling?”

“Alone?   Don’t be silly.”

“Mike—“

“I said I’m not patrolling.”  The orange-masked Chūnin frowned.  “Have a little faith.”

“Why else would you be topside?  You obviously aren’t visiting April or Casey.  I’d bring something else up, but it’s Saturday, not Friday.”

Mikey snorted when his brother scowled.  “Whatever.  If you must know, I wanted some air.  You remember what that is, right?  Not even humans can monopolize oxygen.”

“Then I’m sure you’ve gotten plenty.  Now come home.”

“What’s with you?”

“Nothing.”

“I can handle myself, Leo.  And avoid fights.  I’m not Raph.”  Mikey watched behind narrowed eyes as Leonardo rubbed his temple.

“Will you just listen?” the Jonin asked, voice strained.

“Can’t.  Busy.”

“Doing what?”  Leo spread his arms, and the younger brother returned his attention to the sidewalk.

“Just something,” Mikey muttered.  “You go.   I’ll be home before two.  She’s usually back by then.”

“She?” 

Oops.  Maybe the Chunin should’ve said that quieter.  Or not at all. 

“Who is ‘she’, Michelangelo?”

Mikey lacked the bravery to face the glare he felt boring into him.  His mind scrambled for excuses, and his mouth moved without his say-so,  “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” Leo countered.  His near-mocking tone proved his skepticism. 

Mikey ran a hand down his face.  Nothing?  Could he sound any more suspicious?

“Yeah, nothing.” 

Apparently, he could.

“Mikey, you said you weren’t patrolling.”

“I’m not.”

Leo kept his composure long enough for Mikey’s stomach to churn.  “I know you better than that,” the Jonin added.  “May as well tell the truth right now.”

‘ _No kidding._ ’  The youngest’s mouth had trapped him.  If he ever wanted a peaceful moment again, he’d need to cave.  So he did.

 “You let her touch your arm?” Leonardo asked.

Michelangelo scrunched his face.  “I wrapped it in my sweatpants.  Like I’d let her feel my skin.  Sheesh.”

“Fine.  What happened then?”

“I led her out, sunk back into the shadows.  That’s all.”

“That’s obviously not all since you’re watching her now.  How’d you find her again?”  Leo raised his three-fingered hand.  “Scratch that, why keep an eye on her when you already saved her?”

Mikey shook his head.  “I—It’s hard to explain.  I felt like something was haunting her.”

“Haunting her?”

“It’s the best way I can describe it.”

“…That’s it.  Let’s go, Crazy.”

“Leo!”

“Do you have any proof?  Shady suspects?  Signs of a stalker?  Besides you.”

“I only come by occasionally.  I don’t stalk her.”

Leo quirked an eye ridge.

“I don’t!”

“Right.  So you’re out here based on, what?”

“Experience.  The girl seemed terrified when I met her.”

Leo grimaced.  “Because she’s claustrophobic.  Seriously, Mike, you can’t sit here like some gargoyle.”

“But what if—?”

“There’s no proof.”

“It’s just for a few hours until she gets home at one.”

“In that case, she’s probably getting ready for bed like we should be doing.”

Mikey checked the digital clock on his Shell Cell.  It read ‘1:15 AM, ’ and he cursed as he placed the device back into its belt holster.  Was she safe?  What if he left and she hadn’t come?  Suddenly, he felt nauseous.

“Can we go?” Leo asked.  “I won’t be able to sleep while you’re out.”

“No,” Mikey replied, “I have a weird feeling.”

“Michelangelo.”

“Please, Leo.  Will you listen?”

“I already did.  You sounded ridiculous.”

The orange-masked mutant shook his head.  “I gotta know.”

Leonardo rolled his eyes, ground his teeth, and then reached for his brother’s bicep.  “A feeling doesn’t warrant sitting out here until danger arrives.”

“I disagree.”

“Why?”

“Please, Leo, just let me do this.”

“We’re supposed to work as a team.”

At the word ‘team,' Michelangelo squared his jaw and reclaimed his arm.  “You're overbearing.”

“Complain at home.  Or give me a good reason.”

“Because…”

“Because?”

“Will you stop?”

“Why, Michelangelo?”

The Chūnin dreaded answering; even thinking about the reason wretched his chest.  Still, Leonardo had pushed, and like a bomb, the words exploded from Mikey’s mouth, “Because, unlike you, I refuse to remain helpless!”  Tears welled in the youngest’s eyes when his brother reeled, so he looked away as he added, “Please, let me do this.”

Leo laid a hand on his sibling’s shoulder.  Before he said anything, though, a boom sounded like a ‘pop’ from a mortar firework.  It was followed by a shiver through the air, and a chorus of screams as hot light erupted from the apartment building across the street.  Michelangelo watched in horror as smoke plumed towards the moon, and despite the aggressive roars from the fire, he felt drawn to its warmth.

“Wait.”  Leo pulled his brother off the building ledge.  “We can’t help any more than the firemen at this point.”

“There are people inside, Leo!”

“I know!  But muggings are one thing.  Infernos are another.”

“We have to help!”

Leo frowned.  “Don’t you mean you want to find that girl?  Stay put.”  The Jonin’s command fell on deaf ears.  His brother had already left the rooftop and sprung into acrobatic action.  

The Chūnin landed on a flat roof that neighbored the burning building.  It didn’t reach the upper floors, being only ten stories high, but there were fire escapes on the side facing him.  He darted forward, reaching for them.  But a force cut him short when Leo tackled him with breathe-stealing force.  Mikey grunted as they connected with the concrete and struggled for freedom.  He managed to spot flames out of his peripheral vision.  He was so close; he could smell the burning bricks.

“Let go!” Mikey cried.

“I won’t let you kill yourself!” Leo countered.

“I need to help!”

Leonardo’s voice softened when the Chūnin wiggled.  “I’m sorry, Mikey.”

‘ _No!_ ’

The tears that Michelangelo had tried to repress now flowed down his cheeks, his body shaking.  He knew something bad would happen.  Not a fire, surely.  He expected something along the lines of a home invasion.  But the reality was much worse…

“Mikey, what did this girl look like?”

Cold, blue eyes found Leo, who looked frontward.    “Now you wanna know?”

“Just tell me,” the Jonin snapped.

“Pale.  Long dark hair.  Short.  Chubby.  Why?”   Mikey blinked as Leo released him then motioned for him to follow.

With knitted eye ridges, Mikey peered over the roof’s edge to the warm-hued passage below.  Leo pointed out two figures delving deeper into the darkness: a lanky man who no doubt ducked through doorways and a young woman who could fit beneath his armpits.

The young woman scratched at the grip the man had on her wrist and spoke with a slur, “Let me go!”

Mikey immediately recognized her voice.  “That’s the girl!”

There was a shift in Leonardo’s demeanor, so Michelangelo readied himself.

“Do you know the blonde?” Leo whispered.  “Her father maybe?”

Mikey shook his head.  “Dunno.  But would she fight her own father so hard?”

“Perhaps…”

“Leo?”

“Guess it can’t be helped.  Let’s go.”

Michelangelo nodded then tagged behind his brother as they made a flawless drop into the alleyway.  Each ninja landed on opposing sides of the humans, just as the man knocked out the young woman with a blow to the back of the neck.

‘ _That’s not just any blow_ ,’ Mikey thought.  ‘ _It’s a pressure point.  Weird.  This guy doesn’t look like a fighter._ ’

“Forgive me, but zis must be done,” the man told the figure he carried.  He had a guttural accent, which Mikey had no time to decipher.  The man approached a four-way junction behind the apartment building, and Mikey’s foot struck the back of the man’s knee.

“Yo, Albert Einstein!” Mikey yelled.  “Police are the other way.” 

The man was oddly prepared.  He maintained his hold and caught himself with such grace that Mikey could’ve mistaken him for a Foot soldier.  That is if the guy weren’t dressed in dress slacks and a pinstriped shirt.  Even on the street, Mikey would never peg a Foot to be caught in name-brand shoes.

“Stand back,” the man said, glaring into the fire escapes’ shadows.  “I don’t need any more trouble zan vut I already got.”

Michelangelo clenched the nunchaku tucked in his belt.  “Same could be said about the girl you’re kidnapping.”

“Girl?”  The man paused.  “You don’t know her name?”

Mikey frowned at how the blonde’s dark eyes widened.  Who had he mistaken them for?  The mutant meant to ask.  Only, Leonardo initiated a series of blows.

Hammer kick.  Side-kick.  Right hook.  Uppercut.  The mystery man blocked them all.  Leo shared a dubious look with Mikey as he drew the katanas meant to be unnecessary.  Mikey shrugged in return then claimed a similar fighting stance, both nunchakus at the ready.  Together they charged, and the blonde sought an opportunity to run.

“Hold it!” Mikey cried.

He leaped ahead to strike one nunchaku against the man’s shoulder and the other at his side.  The force startled his opponent enough that Leo could sweep the man’s long legs out from under him.   A thud signaled the Jonin’s success, and Mikey snatched the brunette from the blonde’s loose grasp.  Lying on his back, the man held his right shoulder while he attempted to get up.  Each time Leo kicked him back.

“Give her back, der drecksack,” the blonde hissed, accent thickening.

Mikey huffed.  “Uh, don’t think so, Dude.”

“I need her.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Enough,” Leo interjected.  “We’ll knock him out, drop them both off with the police.”

Swoosh!  Mikey stumbled backward due to the man’s recovery.  As if the word ‘police’ shot new adrenaline through his veins, he somersaulted to his feet with the same grace he had displayed earlier.  His arms settled by his hips as he twisted behind, where the ninjas once stood before retreating into the shadows.

“Zere’s two of you?”  Despite his off-centered stance, he no doubt possessed the power to put up a decent fight.

Both mutants remained silent.  Then, Leonardo began his third wave of attacks.  Katana blades sliced through the night like a whirlwind.  Never once did they touch their target.  Even hindered by a broken collarbone, the man remained out of reach, but The Chūnin smiled.

 ‘ _Bad time to piss Leo off, Dude._   _He’s done playing it safe._ ’

The Jonin increased his speed, and within moments he had the man on his knees, breathless.  But in the time it took to prepare a final blow, the man produced a hand-held gadget from his pocket.  He shattered it against the ground, and a waft of dense smoke seeped out.  Violently coughing, the mutant retreated to Michelangelo, who cried with a pout,

“A smoke screen?  That’s our gig!”

“Is he gone?” Leo managed between coughs.

“Yeah,” Mikey answered.  

Leonardo and Michelangelo remained in the alley a few minutes longer, only moving when Leo regained his vision, and the man was long gone.

“Alright,” the Jonin said, sheathing his katanas, “leave the girl with the paramedics.”

“What about that guy?”

“Mikey—”

“But—“

“Let the police do their job.  Besides, I’m sure she must have loved ones looking for her.”

Mikey’s vision dropped.  “Unless they were in the fire too.”

“Be reasonable.  If she—and that man—got out, others could’ve as well.  Come on.”

Leo guided his brother towards the alley’s opening with a gentle push.  In the midst of sirens, emergency responders paraded the streets in a controlled system like a colony of ants, leaving aghast bystanders to watch from afar.  Mikey spared a glance at the unconscious brunette he held and did as told.  He laid her near a paramedic’s emergency kit then left before being spotted.

Leo flashed a half-hearted smile when the Chūnin returned.  “Let’s go home.”

Mikey sighed, watching the blinking red and blue lights.


	3. Wrong

 

* * *

 

 **A** rnold “Casey” Jones found himself indoors on Sunday afternoon.  He was restocking displays at the thrift store  _Second Time Around_.  Yeah, like some average handyman.  Why?  Because his redheaded girlfriend had an extraordinary power: holding out on sex.

So, albeit with complaints, Casey had sacrificed a date with his hockey ticket.  After unpacking his umpteenth box, he headed for the damaged register desk, sat on a bar stool, and then picked up a statue amidst various antiques on the desktop.

The man studied it, an eyebrow raised.  “What is this ugly thing?”

“It’s not ugly,” April said across the store.  “It’s unique.”

“It looks like a drugged monkey.”  Casey rolled the weighty piece over in his hand.

It had been carved from some porous stone into the shape of a malnourished humanoid.  It hunched around its knees, and the eye sockets tunneled out of its elongated face were deep enough to fit a dime.  Turquoise paint embellished its joints and thin limbs, and a gold-fleck coating glistened over the entire figure.  It wasn’t chipped enough to be old, but that did little to deter from its price (which listed a number Casey would never spend, even if he had the money).

Before the man set the piece down, April snatched it away.  “While I don’t expect you to appreciate it, don’t mock it,” she said.  “My father followed this series before he closed the shop.  A year after I reopened I regained the consignment contract from another antique store that had taken it over.  They’re imported from South America, where a small tribe makes them.  Each piece has its own charm, and their representative has been very generous with their culture.”

Casey clicked his tongue.  “If they’re so great, where are the oddahs?”

“I have a customer who collects them for his daughter.”  April placed the ugly statue back in its spot then faced Casey.  “The Anders family appreciates them as much as I do.  They’re in good hands.”

“Guess that means he’s gunna buy that thing too?”

“He reserved the order, but it’s been almost two weeks since he said he’d pick it up.”

“That bad?”

“Dunno.  Usually, he’s prompt about such things.”

“Maybe he got busy.”

“Maybe…” 

Casey allowed a few moments for further conversation, except April remained silent, her gaze downcast. 

“Hey, Ape?” he called.

“Yeah?”  April’s green eyes turned to Casey.

“Ya okay?”

The redhead smiled.  “Just help with more boxes.”

Casey gave an exasperated sigh, yet slid off his seat and approached several boxes that April pointed at.  In his peripheral vision, he saw the redhead stick out her tongue before heading elsewhere.  No sooner did Casey lift one box to its designated spot did the shop’s phone begin ringing persistently.  Thumps from April’s sneakers told him the interruption was unappreciated.

“Afternoon,” April said.  Casey could tell she barely kept annoyance from her tone.  “This is April O’Neil from Second Time Around.  How may I help you?”

A small pause.

“Um, yes?” 

This time the pause lasted longer, and Casey abandoned his work so he could better hear why April sounded unnerved.

“What?” she whispered.

“What’s wrong?” Casey asked. April, however, shooed him away.  The man pursed his lips then leaned into the conversation.

“Wha?  But I’m not—“  April stopped to shake her head.  “Where are her parents?”

Though the masculine voice on the line may have been faint, Casey could hear it: “Sorry, Miss O’Neil.  We should talk in person.”

### ━❖━

Donatello’s attention shifted from his computer screen to Michelangelo.  The orange-masked Chūnin dared touch the inventions sprawled across a table in the Lair’s lab.  Don would’ve sighed if not for the customer he assisted, but once his task was completed, he placed the headset aside.

“What do you need, Mike?” he asked, curt.

Wordless, Mikey returned the prototype Stealth Watch to its home with surprising tenderness.

‘ _Something must be wrong,_ ’ Don thought.  ‘ _Mike’s never careful._ ’

“What up?” the genius questioned.  This time he kept his tone soft.

Mikey remained silent.  He moved a wooden stool from the room’s corner then placed it by the table so he could cross his arms over its surface.  He kept focused on Don’s inventions rather than Don himself, who now reposed on a swindling seat near his secondary desk.

“When did we last patrol?” Mikey asked, his voice muffled by his arms.

“Uh…”  Don had trouble recalling.  “Early August.”

“And when was the last time we trained as a team?”

“Mikey—“

“When, Donny?”

Don’s mouth pursed as he answered, “A little afterward.  When Raph’s temper became a liability.  Sensei suggested we take leave from patrol.”

Mikey sighed as he tilted his chin up.  “It’s been a month.  Why is Leo so reluctant to go topside again?  Even when we were dealing with the Foot, we still patrolled.  Nothing stopped us, so long as we were healthy.  But now Leo seems hell-bent on sheltering us.  It’s not fair…”

Michelangelo trailed off, and Donatello seized the chance to survey his little brother.  The poor thing looked miserable, confused.  His usual smile was twisted into a scowl.  The mischievous twinkle in his eyes was extinguished, his posture defeated.  The sight wrenched Don’s heart.

“I agree; it’s not fair,” said Don with a sigh.  “But all we can do is support Leo.  He’s our Jonin.  Until he’s regained his confidence, we gotta remain put.”

Blue eyes fell on Don, their severity cringe-worthy.  “He’s Jonin, yes,” Mikey said.  “And I love him.  But I can’t stand his recent behavior.”

“You know Leo.  He feels responsible.  Even though we make our own choices and pull our own weight, he will always have a need to care for us.”

“That’s his problem.  He puts unneeded stress on himself over things he couldn’t—”  Mikey swallowed.  “That no one could control.”

“Mike,” Don whispered, his throat tight, “July scared him.  A lot.”

The orange-masked Chūnin erected his body and hit the table.  “It scared everyone!”

“I know.”   Rising from his seat, Donny approached Mikey to pat his shoulder, but the comfort only made his younger brother pale.

“Do you remember the last time we patrolled?” Mikey asked.

“I already answered that,” Don replied.

“Not when.  Do you remember what happened?”

Don released a slow sigh.  “Of course.”

“Those thieves got away because of Leo’s paranoia.  It was a simple robbery, and we couldn’t do that much.  Next time we go out,” Mikey’s head shook, “we’re gunna be a mess. And need canes because we’ll be ancient.”

Don fought a smile.  “I doubt that.  Something’s bound to knock sense into Leo again.”

Mikey quirked an eye ridge.  “Like what?”

“Maybe something will land in our laps.  That’s our usual Turtle Luck.”  Yawning, the genius returned to his desk to retrieve his headset.  As he hooked the device on his head, a snide laugh sounded.

“What’re the odds of  _that_?”

###  ━❖━

“A fire?”  Nothing could keep horror from April O’Neil’s voice.

She gawked at the African-American sitting crossways from her in Metropolitan Hospital’s waiting room.  Her fingers wrung, and although Casey placed a hand on her shoulder, the woman found herself more annoyed than comforted.  She shrugged off his contact then inhaled.

“How severe was it?” she questioned.

The man, Detective Hugh Reese, replied with a momentary blank stare before asking, “You haven’t seen the news?”

April shook her head.  “I’ve been busy restocking my store.  Is it that bad?”

“Well…”  Detective Reese ran a hand through his short, graying afro then around the clean edges of his goatee.  “It gutted the entire eighteenth floor.”

“Seriously?”

“The top now looks like one my wife’s dinners.  It’ll need complete remodeling, and everyone’s lost their home.”  Detective Reese flashed a tart smile, but it died as his shoulders tensed.  “Forgive the bluntness.  It’s been a long night.”  The man pinched the bridge of his broad nose and scrunched his face as if inwardly chastising himself.

April granted him a moment before speaking again.  “Nia isn’t hurt, is she?”

“She has minor lacerations, a knot on her head.  Nothing major.  She can be discharged tonight if you take her.”

“N—not to be rude, but she doesn’t have anywhere else to go?”

“You  _are_  her place to go.” The man’s eyes narrowed into questioning rather than intimidating slits when April shifted in her chair.

“I know Nia through her father, Gavin Anders,” she started.  “He’s been a faithful client for years.  Sometimes, Nia stops by for inspiration, but that’s it.  I’ve never even met her outside the store.”

“Oh.  Perfect.”

April frowned as Detective Reese rubbed his neck.  “Can’t she stay in a hotel until she finds another place?  My apartment isn’t really meant for more than one person.”

“I beg ta differ,” Casey butted in.  However, he grew silent the moment April laid eyes on him.

“She put me down as an emergency contact?” April asked.

The detective nodded.  “She personally asked for you.  It’s the only thing she’s said, actually.”

“And her parents…”

Detective Reese’s vision fell to the linoleum floor.  “They haven’t been identified.  Or rather, they can’t be.  Charred bodies all look alike until dental records confirm otherwise.  In this case, the fire burned so hotly, a small amount turned to ash.”

“Is that possible?”

“Not under normal circumstances.  Even cremated bodies need ground up.  But it’s not like we can deny the bone ash we found.  Those checked into police records are identified from the apartment’s occupancy list.  Whoever isn’t accounted for—body or no—has been deemed dead.  Fourteen deaths in all.  Gavin and Mia Anders are included among those fourteen.”

April drew in a sharp breath just thinking about the deaths.  Burned alive?  Few deserved such a fate.  Gavin and Mia certainly weren’t among the few.

‘ _I can’t believe it.  And Nia._ ’

“Ape?” asked Casey.

The redhead faced her boyfriend, refusing to cry.  “I'm all right,” she whispered.  “It’s just…jarring.  Oh, man.  Detective Reese, does she really have no other family?  Aunt?  Uncle?  Step-grandfather?  Best friend?  Anything?”

Detective Reese bit the bottom of his full lips and shrugged.

“And a hotel is out of the question?”

“Not necessarily.  She’s old enough to live alone, but—“  The man leaned forward with his elbows supported on his knees.  “Look, I’m not a doctor and I’m not a psychiatrist, but I’ve seen enough during my career to know this girl needs someone, someone she trusts.  She’s taking this news worse than the others and is still in shock.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”  Detective Reese stood to his full height, nearly three heads above April from where she sat.  He caught the redhead’s eyes and spoke in a low tone.  “Acquaintance or no, that young woman requested you.  As far as I’m concerned, you’re the only one who can help her through this.  Then again, I can only suggest.  Now I’m sorry.  There are others I must talk with.  Good day, Miss O’Neil, Mister Jones.”  The man nodded at the couple then left.

“So,” Casey began after a pause, “what are we gunna do?” 

Moments passed.  April didn’t respond until she stood up as well. 

“What do you think?” she asked.  “We’ll take her home.  For now.”

### ━❖━

Under the florescent lights inside a computer lab, a dark voice spoke over Annabelle Lombardo’s shoulder.  “Have you found him?”

The woman paused her keystrokes before realizing such hesitation would cost her more trouble than the answer she was about to give.  “N—no, Agent Bishop Sir,” she said.  “He’s severed all ties in Italy, disappeared in the States.  We’ve found no trace of the stone, either.”

The malice looming behind Annabelle grew tenfold.  The woman could do nothing more to steady her pounding heart than breath slowly through her upturned nose.  Her eyes remained focused on the screen ahead, at a collection of geometric shapes and vast text only an experienced technician would comprehend.  She kept that concentration firm until her employer spoke again.

“Miss Lombardo?”

“Yes, Sir?”

Agent Bishop’s hand rested at the base of Annabelle’s skull.  The hot pressure reminded her of how insignificant any fight she put up would be.

“I will not tolerate rogues,” Bishop hissed.  “Find them both.”

“Y—yes, Sir.”

* * *

 


	4. Faith and Trust

* * *

**C** asey stretched as he neared the refrigerator in April’s apartment.  His body was stiff from napping on the couch, and several of his joints gave an uncomfortable ‘pop’ as they protested movement.

“How much longer will that girl sleep?” he asked. 

“Not sure,” April answered from the living room couch.  “It’s all she ever does.  That and stare out the window like a zombie.  You know she still hasn’t eaten?”

“If ya ask me, she ought ta—wait.  Ya serious?”  Casey craned away from the fridge’s cold air for a better view of his girlfriend.  When she shook her head, he shut the fridge door then left the kitchen.  “It’s Tuesday!”

“I know what day it is,” the redhead snapped.  “I’ve done everything the detective suggested.  Left meals, talked, invited her out, shared memories of Dad.  She’s nonresponsive like she’s not really here.”

“Man.”  Casey rounded the couch to fall onto the cushion beside April.  A pause followed—accompanied by faint chatter from television—before he spoke again.  “At this rate, she’ll make herself sick.“

“Depression has set in,” April said, sipping her coffee.  “That’s not something you can just snap a person out of.”

“She’s, uh, she’s not the kind’a girl ta hurt herself, is she?”

April met Casey’s sidelong glance with stern eyes.  “You mean: is she suicidal?”

The man shrugged.  “Just wanna know if we ought ta watch for signs.”

“I—I don’t know.”

“Eight years an’ ya don’t know?”

April sighed.  “Gavin usually does—did—all the talking.  Whenever Nia came alone, I’d be lucky to get a few one-liners.  At first, I thought she was Autistic.  Over time, though, I found she’s just…distant.”

Casey raised an eyebrow.

“How else can I explain it?” added April.  “Small talk is a no-go.  Eye contact is near impossible.  Honestly, Casey?  I no idea why she dubbed me her emergency contact.”

“If ya’re the closest ta a friend she’s got, that’s a little sad.”  Flaring nostrils indicated Casey’s joke went unappreciated.

“Don’t you work today?” the redhead asked.

“Don’t ya?”

April flashed a sharp look then abandoned the couch to place her empty mug in the kitchen sink.  Casey maintained a smirk while watching her vigorously wash the dish.

“My shift starts around three,” he said when April returned to the living room.  “Ya didn’t open the shop yesterday ‘cuz ‘a Nia, right?”

April nodded, hesitant.

“Then go open it, Babe.  I’ll stay here.”  The look Casey received oozed skepticism.  “Hey, I watched over Angel for years.”

“Angel moved to Georgia.”

“Not my fault.  Sides, we pried her out ‘a the gang life.”

“Still…”

Casey snorted.  “Ya haven’t made any headway, right?  Why not give me a chance?  If it don’t work, least ya got a break.”

April shook her head, but also smiled, saying, “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“It’s scary when you make sense.” Winking, April retreated upstairs, leaving Casey to fold his arms.  When she returned minutes later, her body blocked Casey’s view from the television.  “I’ll be busy,” she said, smoothing wrinkles in her blouse.  “I can’t help if you do something stupid.”

“I ain’t a child,” Casey spat.

Green eyes rolled.  “Most of the time you act like one.  Make lunch.  Maybe this time she’ll eat.  I’d prefer you fix a sandwich since I don’t feel like scraping burnt food off my pans.”

“Whatever.  Ya’d make me clean ‘em even if ya had been the one ta burn ‘em.”

April either ignored the statement or didn’t hear it because she approached the exit without protest.  Before descending downstairs, she smiled at Casey—a gesture that convinced the man he was doing good after all.  A small ‘click’ chimed when the door shut after her.  It marked Casey’s opportunity to coax one traumatized girl out of depression.

Shit.  What the hell was he thinking?  His comforting—at best—included grunts and holding.  He doubted that would help a girl who he’d known for no more than four hours.

‘ _Can’t turn back now.  Ape would never let me live it down._ ’

Sighing, the man ventured into the kitchen.  He prepared a ham sandwich, placed it on a paper plate.  After pouring a glass of milk, he headed upstairs then down the hall.  He halted at a plain, white door—if only because full hands prevented him from barging in.  While balancing the plate over the cup’s rim, he knocked twice.

No reply.

Casey swung the door open.  It revealed a bright-lit room cluttered with storage boxes, old furniture, and overflow store inventory.  The walls were yellowed.  The smell of musk was so strong, not even April’s incense could mask it.  And on a mattress beside the lone window, supported by plywood and cinderblock pillars, Nia sat with her forehead against the windowpane.

“Room service,” Casey chimed.  He stopped at an antique end table to leave his burdens and noted that the plate from last night remained untouched.  “Don’t like lemon an’ garlic chicken?  It’s good.  But for all we know ya could be vegetarian.  Are ya a vegetarian?”

Casey left the old food on a stack of boxes by the door then faced the upright figure in the bed.  She made no sound or movement.  Only a slight shake in her shoulders ensured she was breathing.

‘ _Damn girl could give mimes a run for their money._ ’  Casey plopped on a banana box marked as ‘books’ and studied Nia while she knowingly, or unknowingly, adjusted to his presence.

Overall, she looked average: pudgy with rounded features and a pointed chin.  Two black braids pooled at her hips.  April must’ve tied them in a vain attempt to ease the younger woman’s stress.  Nia kept her legs drawn up below her blankets and above a closed sketchbook over her feet, she held that ugly-as-sin statue from Sunday.

‘ _Guess it’s only right she keep it._ ’

Casey brought his eyes to Nia’s profile.  Her expression was as void—void of anger, sorrow, reasoning, or thought.  Even her fair skin, which emphasized veins along her neck and bags under her eyes, hadn’t regained its healthy hue.

Casey withheld a grimace.  Was it just him?  Or did his task just become more difficult?

“So,” he started, “heard yer apartment burned down.  That’s a bummer.”

There was a short pause.

“I know a thing or two about fires,” Casey continued.  “Ever hear ‘a Hun, the Purple Dragons’ leader?  He burned down my father’s shop when I was a kid.  I—It ain’t a pleasant experience, but ya find a new home.  I’m sure ya’ll do great on yer own.”  The man leaned forward when Nia flinched.  “What?  Don’t wanna be on yer own?”

Nia’s eyes flickered in Casey’s direction.

“Is that why ya called April?  How old are ya, anyway?  Eighteen?  Twenty?  Shouldn’t ya be in the big world anyways?  Why stay wit’ yer parents?  Usually, kids can’t wait ta leave the nest.” 

No response.

“Look,” Casey’s muscles began to quiver, “Detective Reese told us ya asked for April personally.  Why do that if ya ain’t gunna talk ta her?  She’s worried, so if ya wanna wallow in self-pity, do it at a hotel.  I’m sorry about yer folks, I am.  But ignorin’ life won’t make them any less  _dead_!”

The moment his words flew from his lips, Casey regretted them.  Another silence overcame the room—this one filled with far more tension than the rest.  Casey considered a retreat; however, a soft voice left him frozen.

“I…couldn’t,” Nia whispered.

“Couldn’t what?” asked Casey.

Nia released a light breath.  “Go to anyone else.”

“Ya really got no oddah family?”

The man thought he had lost his connection until Nia curled her body up tighter, saying,  “No one…who would take me in.”

“Guess ya could count that as a blessin’.  Sometimes family can be, uh—like my cousin Sid.  He’s back ‘n forth between straight an’ a mess.  It’s a pain, although they can be worthwhile.”  Casey’s thoughts didn’t dwell on his blood ties, but relatives of another kind.  “Well, shit.” 

“What,” Nia’s voice wavered, “what did the detective tell you?”

“He talked about the fire, yer parents, that ya wanted April’s help.  What do ya think he told us?”  Though thankful their connection hadn’t been severed, the man groaned at yet another long pause.

“The detective’s wrong,” Nia whispered as she leaned towards the window.  “They’re not.”

“Not what?”

“Dead.”

Casey pondered the response for no more than a second.  “Ya mean yer parents?”  Silence answered him, and Casey hit his knees before he could temper himself.  “Hate ta say it, Kid, but those bodies in yer apartment couldn’t be anyone else.  Yer folks probably made sure ya escaped then got trapped.  Ya’re here.  That means they must ’a sacrificed themselves.  Got it?”

As he spoke, Casey noted Nia’s trembles.  Perhaps she’d spent the last two days trying to escape reality.  Or maybe it was something she believed from the beginning and refused to let go.  Casey sympathized but also understood the dangers of wishful thinking.

“Yer parents are dead,” he added, gentler.  “If ya don’t accept that, ya’ll never heal.”

Tears streamed down Nia’s red cheeks when she swallowed.  It hurt Casey to know he’d made a girl cry and his stomach sank as he rose from the banana box.  He gathered the full plate by the door then turned, one last thought weighing on his mind.

“Ya got an amazin’ lady willin’ ta help,” he said.  “I think ya know that.  While the pain won’t go away overnight, denial only makes it worse when reality hits all over again.  Trust in her ‘cuz ya’re tellin’ me she’s all ya got.”

### ━❖━

 “Michelangelo.”  Hamato Splinter’s voice cut through the Lair’s living room.

Sluggish, Michelangelo brought his attention from the television wall to Splinter.  The mutant rat stood by the couch’s armrest with a posture that defied the cane he gripped.

“My son,” said Splinter, “I have called your name five times.  Why did you not answer?”

Distant blue eyes blinked.  “You have?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.  Sorry.”

Splinter frowned when his son returned to the televisions then joined the orange-masked Chūnin and Klunk on the worn furniture.  A side-glance indicated that Michelangelo had succumbed to his reverie again, which caused the master’s nose to twitch.  He had not expected anyone to be awake at such an early hour.  At least, not awake and watching television.  He was surprised he found himself alert, although the naps Leonardo insisted on may have been to blame.

“Michelangelo,” Splinter started, “your distracted behavior has become especially apparent in the last week.  Does something trouble you?”  A cold stare jabbed a pang through the master’s chest.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know, Sensei,” Michelangelo grumbled.  “Leo talks to you.”

“And what do you believe he has told me?”

The Chūnin sighed.  “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Yeah, nothing.”

“Such stubbornness.”

Michelangelo grew silent, eyes narrowed at a commercial as if it was his sworn enemy.  Splinter’s heart dropped at the site.

“Shin,” Splinter told him.

“Huh?”

“Shin,” Splinter repeated.  “The Bushido teaching of honesty.”

“I know what it means.”  Michelangelo pursed his mouth.  “But why bring it up?”

“You know why, my son.”

Michelangelo glanced at his father, who smiled in the full knowledge that the Chūnin wanted to talk, should talk, yet required a slight push to do so.  A sigh later, Splinter received his answer.

“Leo’s out of control, Sensei.  He’s become so paranoid.  It’s driving me nuts.  Nuts!”  Klunk fled from Michelangelo’s lap when her owner stood and allowed his frustration to animate his arms.  “Where are you going?  What are you doing?  Are you okay?  Ugh!  Ya know, I haven’t been able to leave the Lair since Saturday.  That’s three days of sitting at home with nothing to do but think.  And you  _know_  what I think about.”  The mutant turtle shared a pained looked with Splinter then continued, “You said we need to heal together, so why do I feel like I’m the only one trying?”

Still, controlled, Splinter clenched the head of his wooden cane while a fire burned inside him.  His sons had grown so much within the past years.  They were adults now, and he could offer no more than advice.  Whether or not they listened was their prerogative, regardless of Splinter’s wishes.

“Michelangelo, sit.”

Like an obedient child, Michelangelo did as commanded, falling onto a couch cushion and resting his head in his three-fingered hands.  Splinter laid a paw on his son’s shoulder and could only pray his heartbreak transferred through their touch.

“Your brothers are fearful,” the master said.  “While you may not agree nor understand, they have their own means of recovery.  Yes, I have said you must lean on one another; however—”

“They aren’t doing that, especially Leo and Raph.”

It pained Splinter to admit it.  “Yes.”

“We should be back out there already.  We can’t do that if we’re grounded thanks to Leo darling.”

“Rie.”  The orange-masked Chūnin jerked sideways at Splinter’s reprimand.  “Respect your clan leader, Michelangelo.  He is the most frightened, for he is responsible for you all.”

“He should have faith in us, too.”

“He does.”

“Yeah, right.  It’s like he’s lost all confidence in us.  Why haven’t you told him to move forward?”

Splinter remained impassive under his son’s glare.  “I have said all that I can to Leonardo.”

“So you’ve given up too.”

“Michelangelo.”  Blue eyes averted, glistening as Splinter continued,  “Shinrai.  Faith.  Keep it close, for if you lose it, then your path will be a dark one.  My son”—Splinter outstretched a paw to regain Michelangelo’s attention—“as certain as I know you are hurting, you are also strong.  Currently, you are the only one to see through the pain.  Harness the initiative to see your brothers through it as well.”

“But,” Michelangelo’s voice cracked, “I don’t know how.”

“Keep the faith.  Though painful and challenging, you will find peace in it.  Your brothers will too.”

Shaking his head, Michelangelo rose from the couch then flashed a weak smile.  “If you say so.  Night, Otōsan.”

Splinter frowned as Michelangelo headed for the stairway.  “Goodnight, my son.”


	5. Complications

* * *

**T** oothbrush?  Check.  Hairbrush?  Check?  Bathing and woman supplies?  Check.  Changes of clothes?  Check.

Despite how many times April repeated Nia’s list, she still felt incomplete.  She wandered the Manhattan Mall in hopes something—anything—would spark a reminder as to why.  No such luck.

‘ _Well, I’ve already gone beyond what I promised.  And I still gotta lug everything home._ ’

Now that was a trip she dreaded.  If only her usual grunt man had come along.  The again, he had stayed at the apartment for a good reason: to watch Nia.

Yesterday the young woman had finally emerged.  It was a miracle.  Honestly, April had doubted Casey.  But it seemed his inability to be sensitive left a positive impact on Nia.  How that worked, April would never understand.  At least Nia was talking, even if she avoided pressing matters like funeral arrangements.

‘ _I’d push if I didn’t fear she’d recoil.  It’s like walking on eggshells.  Or maybe I’m over-thinking, and she really does need a stern hand._ ’

April cut through the mall traffic.  She planted herself on a bench, secured her purchases beneath it, and then stared ahead.  She rubbed her throbbing temples, forcing away all thoughts until her fingers cramped and the crowd’s colors left her dizzy.

‘ _I hate this,_ ’ she thought.  ‘ _The loss.  The funerals.  It reminds me of Dad…_ ’

It’d be selfish to disregard Nia, though, wouldn’t it?  Guess April had no choice except return home.  Sighing, the redhead reached under the bench.  No sooner did she grab a bag did a masculine voice stop her, whispering,

“You’re in danger.”

‘ _What the hell?_ ‘

“Don’t turn, O’Neil.  It’s best no one vitnesses us.”

April glared—not over her shoulder, but towards a mirrored fountain that served as the rest area’s focal point.  The warped waters revealed a tall figure, a German, judging by his strong articulation.

“How do you know my name?” questioned April.

“Information has been my job for many years.”  Although the man’s accent wasn’t overpowering, its gruff nature popped his vowels.  “Besides, Stockman has been too distracted recently to upgrade his firewalls.”

“Stockman?”

“Surprised?  You know vell your brief time vorking as his assistant had been documented.  It vasn’t hard to recover your profile.”

“Why would you need my profile?”

“A good scientist alvays does research.”

April scoffed.  “You’re a scientist?”

“Ja.”

“And what do you want with me?”

“Simple, to ensure your safety.”  The German spoke as if the answer was painfully obvious.  “If I found you zis easily, zen it vill only be a matter of time before you’re approached by him as vell.”

“Who’s ‘him’?”

“A man viz an unprecedented drive to get vut he vunts.”

“That’s helpful.”

“Sarcasm is not appreciated, O’Neil.  I’m here to help.”

“Sorry.  It’s a little hard to trust someone who hides their face and whispers in public.”

“Believe me, it’s for zuh best.”

April hummed.  “How about this, dark and shady?  You stay while I go home?  Whatever you want, you aren’t getting it.  Not like this.”

With a huff, April gathered her bags and stood.  She stepped forward, only for a surprisingly strong hand to force her back onto the bench.

“Don’t,” the German hissed.

“Hands off!”

“Keep your voice low.  Zuh last zing ve need is attention.”

Growling, April turned.  She was met with steely eyes below a beanie and an expression that spoke volumes of experience behind a walrus mustache.

“Without a straight answer, I’m leaving,” she said, struggling for her arm.  “Whether or not I do so with you in pain will be your decision.”

“Es tut mir leid,” the German countered.  “I vould razer you not be involved.  Regrettably, you have somezing I need.”

April frowned.  “You mean my shop?  Because the last shipment was mostly vases.  No one goes through this trouble for a vase.”

“Zis isn’t about a vase.”                               

“Then what is it about?”

“Vut I need vas given to you by Detective Reese.”

Slowly, April’s frown eased.  “Nia?”

“Young Anders holds somezing of personal value,” added the German.  “Let me protect her.  In turn, she can provide vut I need.”

“Protect her from what?”  The redhead’s glare returned, heated ten-fold as her captor sighed.

“Forgive me.  I—I cannot say.”

“Then I cannot assist you.”

“Listen, fräulein; she isn’t safe!”  The man’s patience had waxed thin, as apparent by his inflamed nostrils.  He snarled, his grip tightening on April’s arm until she winced.

“I warned you,” April said.  Then, she punched the man—just as Donny had taught her.

The German released Aril to tend a broken nose, and the redhead seized her chance to grab two bags before bolting from the rest area.  Several bystanders murmured as she tore through them.  Perhaps they thought her insane, but she had no time for embarrassment.  She glanced at the parted trail she left behind then grimaced.  A gray blur was catching up, fast.

‘ _What about avoiding attention?_ ’ If needs’ be, she could fight.  She’d rather not do so in public, though.  ‘ _Most assume it’s the lady who’s in trouble, so—’_

“Help!”  April wailed.  “That man’s trying to kidnap me!”   

The redhead sniggered when several shoppers caught the German by his coat tail.  Their threats granted her enough time to descend the stairs to the cramped subway station below.  After a shaky swipe of her pass, she boarded a railcar, her will for its doors to shut increasing with her heart rate.

“Vait!” the German cried from the stairs.

“Dammit!  Come on, close!  Close!”  April pulled on the railcar doors.  Strange, yes.  But, again, she hadn’t time for concern.  The German was pushing through the dense crowd.

Ding!  The doors finally shut, seconds before the man arrived.  He beat the glass barricade, cursed, and April’s chest puffed with victory.   She gave thanks for the shift in the train, yet her smile died when the man ripped off his beanie.

‘ _Is he crying_? _What the hell is going—oh…shit._ ’

April watched the German spin with furrowed brows.  He backpedaled, his long legs shaking.  Someone in a trench coat stepped onto the subway platform.  The new man needn’t remove his sunglasses; April already knew him far better than she’d like.  And his smirk sunk her stomach further than any mystery smell in the railcar ever could.

### ━❖━

“Here ya go,” Casey told Nia.  He handed a mug to the young woman then smirked when she huddled around it.

“Th—thank you, Mister Jones,” Nia whispered.  By the time she spoke up, Casey had already sunken onto the couch and returned his attention to Ultimate Wrestling Smackdown.

“Do I got ta repeat myself?” asked Casey.  “Stop callin’ me ‘Mister.'  Makes me feel like a—never mind.  Just call me Casey.” 

Nia nodded.

“Do ya like yer tea?” the man added.

Again, Nia nodded.

“I didn’t forget anything this time, did I?”

Once more, Nia nodded, impassively staring out the living room window with a quiet sigh.

Then the conversation fell—just like every other time.  Casey snorted as he chugged the beer he’d been nursing all afternoon.

‘ _The kid’s respectful, but at the same time…dismissive.  Too quiet.  An’ here  I thought I was doin’ good._ ’

“So, Nia,” Casey started, “tell me about yer folks.  What kind ‘a people were they?”

Nia squeezed her mug to the point where Casey feared she’d crack the ceramic.  She kept focused on the open window, but the man had already noticed her rapid blinks and colorless knuckles.

“Ya can talk about ’em,” he said.  “I know it—it’s like a taboo almost.  But it helps.  It’s what I did when…”  The man leaned forward to swap his empty beer for a full one from the coffee table.  He opened then swigged it, focusing on its malty taste instead of old wounds.  “Least yer pop died fightin’.  Mine…gave up.”

Nia’s head turned, slight enough to urge on Casey.

“Yeah, he, uh, committed suicide not long after his shop burned down.  Left me ‘n Ma behind.  School counselor said it’d help ta remember him.  So…where’d they work?”

Nia sent Casey a hard stare as if assessing his credibility then, with some effort, spoke in a broken voice,  “Mama has“—she flinched—“had an office at Irvin Realty Cooperation.  Daddy taught molecular biology at Lyngavaer Medical College.”

Casey whistled.  “Damn.  They make good money?”

“They worked hard,” Nia whispered with a shrug, “but we weren’t rich.”

“Still, I bet ya had a lot ‘a fun Christmases.”

“Daddy did his best to make sure Mama and I were happy.”

“That a yes?”

Sighing, Nia faced the window again.  Screw that.

“Look, Kid,” Casey all but growled.  “I’m tryin’ ta make nice here.  Didn’t yer pops teach ya some courtesy?”

“Daddy taught me a lot of things.”

“Like?”

Nia hunched, talking towards her mug, “Swimming, fishing, shelter building, h—how to differentiate eatable and toxic plants.  Just…normal kid stuff.”

“Normal for a Boy Scout, maybe.  I don’t think I can even start a fire.  On purpose, anyway.  What about rollerblading or biking or concerts?”

“Th—those aren’t his kind’a things.”

“Ya mean weren’t?”  Casey watched with pained eyes as Nia swallowed.  “If yer pops liked the outdoors so much, why live in the city?”

“Mama’s life was here.  Daddy stayed for her.  And took me camping because he knows— _knew_ how important survival skills can be.”

“’Cuz city kids stranded in woods happens so often in Manhattan.”

Nia’s voice lowered, “He said I shouldn’t grow up privileged.  He wanted me to…appreciate how hard it is…to live.  He—he wasn’t born into a middle-class family like me.”

“What class was he born inta then?  The lower kind?”  Though Casey meant to jest, he found himself offended.

“I—I don’t know.”

“Why not?”

The young woman shook her head.  “Daddy never talked about his past, just that he started from the bottom.  Said it was behind him, where it belonged.”

“An’ yer ma?”

“Sh—she had an older brother, who died four years ago.  We never met, I don’t think.  I saw my grandparents for the first time at his funeral, but…they never looked at Daddy or me.  Now that I think about it, we probably weren’t invited.”

“Bad blood?”

“I—I guess.  She kept it secret.”

Casey grumbled into his beer bottle, “So that’s where ya get it from.”

“Get what?”  Nia’s thick brows drew close as Casey smirked.

“Nothin’,” he said, swigging his beer.  He wiped his mouth dry after the bottle was emptied then added, “Whatever beef yer folks had wit’ their parents doesn’t matter.  They loved ya.  Keep that in mind, Kid.  It’ll make the funerals…bearable.”  Casey faced Nia, whose side-swept bangs shielded her eyes.  Her bottom lip began quivering, and when her breath grew ragged, Casey stiffed.  “Ya’re gunna have ta start thinkin’ about arrangements soon, ya know?” he asked.

Nia gave a solemn nod.

“Good.  Now, how about dinner?  I’m starvin’.”  Casey pushed off the couch and entered the kitchen.  “What’re ya in the mood for?  Chinese?  Italian?”

Nia shifted on the couch.  “Wasn’t Miss O’Ne—“

“April.”

“Miss April picking up ingredients for fish and rice?”

Casey read the digital clock above the stove.  “Five eighteen?  She’s late.”

“Sh—should we call her?”

“Maybe.”  Casey produced a cell phone from his back jean’s pocket but almost dropped it when a voice cried out.

“We have complications!”

For a moment, Casey swore his phone had read his mind and patched him through to his girlfriend.  However, stomping feet convinced him the redhead was already in the apartment.

“What’s goin’ on, Babe?”

April searched the living room like a cop sniffing out drugs.  After examining the furniture and knocking over some papers stacked on the coffee table, she still offered no reply.

“April!”

Green eyes snapped up.  “Give me your cell,” April said.  She neared Casey with an upright palm

“Where’s yers?” the man questioned.

“Dead, and I can’t find the house phone.  Now hand it over!”

“Alright, alright!”  Casey did as told, scowling as the redhead left with no further explanation.  “What’s goin’ on?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute.”

### ━❖━

Ring!  Ring!

Michelangelo gave the telephone little thought when it cried, his attention fixated on the video game before him.  “Phone’s ringing!” he yelled in hopes that someone would relieve him of the burden.

Ring!  Ring!

“Guys, I said the phone’s ringing!”

No answer.

Ring!  Ring!

The Chunin groaned.  Having lost his last game life, he abandoned his controller and, letting out an irritated sigh, jumped over the couch. 

“ _I’ll_ get it!” he screamed.  Seconds before he reached the phone, Leonardo intervened.  “Uncool, Dude!”

“Hey, April,” Leo said.

“Ooh!  It’s April?”  Mikey grinned.  “Tell her ‘Hi’ for me.”

“Mikey, quiet.  What’s wrong, April?”  Leo paused.  “Why?  Are you okay?  Did something happen?”

The youngest gasped.  Breath baited, he waited for his brother to react.  When Leonardo eased, so did Mikey.  However, fear lingered inside his brother’s intense stare.

“Good,” Leo continued.  “Then why do you need—? …Who? …How well do you know her? …Can’t she go to the police?  …April, I don’t know.  I mean we’re… You sure about that?”  The Jonin’s eyes narrowed behind his blue mask.  “So you really—?  …Okay.  Okay.  Okay, April.  We’ll be there.”

Leonardo hung up the phone like it weighed a ton.  He turned slowly, and the solemn look on his face held enough weight to sink Mikey’s stomach.

“What’s going on?” asked the Chūnin.

“Get Donny and Raph.”

“Everything alright?”

Leo sighed then headed for Splinter’s room, saying, “We’re going back to work.”


	6. Leap

* * *

**A** pril emerged from her apartment kitchen, saying, “They’ll be here around nine or ten.”

She regarded Nia with a smile, yet with Casey, a frown.  In private, she’d given her boyfriend an overview of the German, and he’d reassured her that seeking the Hamatos’ help was best.  Still, the redhead’s apprehension fought against her reasoning.

‘ _If he’s involved, the guys are most apt to handle the situation._

_But Nia’s only lived with me for four days._

_She’s been coming to the store ever since I reopened.  Her father was a good man.  And she doesn’t seem like the kind who’d harm them._

_What if she calls them monsters?  What if she hurts them, even unintentionally?_

_No, I won’t let that happen.  I’ll prepare her_.’

Inhaling, April sank into the couch cushion beside Nia then wrapped her hands around the brunette’s cold fingers.  “Sweetie,” she started,” I have some questions for you.”

Nia swallowed thickly.  “What…what kind?”

“Your father worked as a Cytologist once.  Do you know if he…?”  April paused to re-think her tactic.  “Was he ever employed by any obscure government branches?”

  Nia looked at Casey then back towards April.  “H—he worked for a company called Erudio Laboratories.  It’s private.”

“What about possible associates?  Coworkers he may have shared research with?”

The brunette shook her head.  “Unless it was required, Daddy just…spent time at home.”

“So you don’t know a German with a wicked mustache?”  April about flinched at the look she received.  Had she sprouted a second head?

“No—no, Miss O’Neil.  I don’t.”

The redhead eyed her.  “You sure?”

“W—why?  Is something wrong?”

April sighed.  “At the mall, someone approached me.  He wanted to take you away.”

Nia retracted her hands as if physically bit.  Her blue-green eyes rounded, and April felt assured that the young woman’s face would’ve blanched another shade if possible.

“I don’t mean to scare you,” added April.  “But he knew you were staying with me, looked up my profile, my resume.  Are you sure you don’t know him?”

Nia rubbed her neck.  “Sorry, Miss O’Niel,” she said.  “I don’t…I don’t know anyone like that.”

“Call her April,” Casey told Nia.

“Would you leave her alone about that already?” April asked.

“Depends.  Does bein’ addressed like a school teacher turn ya on?”

“It’s called manners, Idiot, something you never learned.  I doubt—“

“It makes ya sound old.  ‘Sides,” Casey leaned towards the couch and whispered, “a little familiarity would put everyone at ease, don’t ya think?”

The redhead grimaced.  ‘ _Right.  I convinced the guys to come.  Though I doubt Nia would do anything violent, can she accept them as allies?  I hate how vulnerable they must feel at times like this; having to take that uncertain leap in trusting another._ ’

“So you have no idea who that German was?” April used her most intrepid tone with Nia, who shook her head.  “And you haven’t a clue what he would want?”  Another shake, this one less definite.  “Honest?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll believe that then.  But you can’t stay with me anymore.”

“ _What_?”

“Sheesh, must ya yell?” Casey snapped.

 “Y—you’re kicking me out?” Nia added.  “Where would I go?  What would I do?  I’d be alone.  What if—What if—“

“Relax,” said April.  “I’m not kicking you out.  Well, I am, and I‘m not.  It’s tricky.  Come here.”  The redhead regained Nia’s cold hands.  “I’ll still help.  To do that, though, I need a promise.”

“A promise?” Nia echoed.

April hesitated, and she inhaled to keep calm.  “Some people are coming, people who’re more experienced in this stuff than they should be.“

“And they can help?”

“They’ve helped Casey and me time and time again.  They’re family.  We love them.  And we can only hope you come to love them half as much.”  A prickle inside the redhead’s eyes served as a painful reminder of the fear she struggled against.  “I know you’ll be alarmed, but please, _please_ , don’t shut them out because of their appearance.”

By now, Nia’s pale face was scrunched, almost frightened.

So April continued on carefully,  “Years ago, I worked for a scientist named Baxter Stockman.  He had invented these machines called Mousers.  He used them to rob banks, and when I found out, he set their sights on me.   They chased me, almost had me, but the guys—my brothers—fought them.  I may have screamed during our first meeting.  Several times.  Then fainted.  Twice, I think.  But they’re amazing.”

Nia tightened her grip, and a strange tingle shot up April’s arm when the brunette whispered, “Why would you scream?”

The smile that crept across the redhead’s face was both nostalgic and loving.  “Just keep an open mind.  Shouldn’t be hard for an artist, right?  Look.  My family cares a lot.  Despite any aversion or judgment from society, they strive to keep people safe.  It’s their Bushido way.  And I wish everyone could see the greatness in them like I do.  Promise, Nia, that you’ll try to see that greatness too.”

April couldn’t rein in her desperation.  Not that she wanted to.  She let it flow through her words and waited with a tight chest until Nia’s eyes softened.

“I won’t judge,” the brunette said.  “Promise.”

April’s smile returned.  “Thank you.”

### ━❖━

Leonardo’s scowl remained ever since his call with April.  She asked a lot.  Meeting another human?  That always required risk.  And yet, when he reflected on it, her phone call had demanded they take a leap of faith…

_“Hey, April,” Leonardo greeted._

_“Ooh!” Michelangelo interjected.  “It’s April?  Tell her ‘Hi’ for me.”_

_“Mikey, quiet.  What’s wrong, April?”_

_“I need you guys here as soon as possible.”_

_April’s bridled fear left the Jonin stiff._   _”Why?  Are you okay?  Did something happen?”_

_“Huh?  No.  No.  Well, yeah.  But I’m not hurt.”_

_Leo calmed, but not enough that he could ignore the unease in the woman’s tone._   _“Good.  Then why do you need—?”_

_“I need help with someone.”_

_“Who?”_

_“A girl named Nia Anders.  She’s in trouble.”_

_Leo loathed asking,_ _“How well do you know her?”_

_“She’s been coming to Second Time Around for years, but I’ve never met her outside of that.”_

_“Can’t she go to the police?”_

_“The police can’t help.  Trust me.”_

_Leo knew he should.  Still, he said, “April, I don’t know.  I mean we’re—“_

_“What?  Not ready?  Don’t give me that bull, Hamato, Leonardo.  This is what you guys do: help.  I know you’re scared, but you gotta move forward.  Her home is ash, Leo, her parents gone.  And today I found out she may be involved with someone dangerous.”_

_“You sure about that?”_

_“I swear.”_

_“So you really—? “_

_“Just get over here.  Please.”_

_“Okay.  Okay.”_

_“Seriously!”_

_“Okay, April.  We’ll be there.”_

After the call, Michelangelo had happily rounded up the remaining brothers.  Raphael had been as skeptical as Leonardo while Donatello’s reserves left him with a permanent frown.  Convincing them to go topside hadn’t been the issue, though.  Actually, it had been convincing Splinter that proved a real challenge…

_“Come in, my son.”_

_Leonardo slid the shoji screen sideways then entered his father’s bedroom.  Outwardly, he appeared stoic.  Inside, his heart skipped a beat with every step he took.  Splinter detected his son’s panic, so his twitching whiskers came as no surprise when Leo kneeled on a zabuton_

_“What troubles you, my son?” Splinter asked._

_Air caught in Leo’s throat.  “Otōsan,” he managed, “I have a question.”_

_“What is it?”_

_Still, Leo fought for words._

_“My son”—Splinter’s tone was a mix of amusement and discomfort—“is the question that difficult?”_

_“Kind of.”  The master’s ears tilted upwards, prompting Leo.  “April called.  She asked for help.”_

_“And this is terrible?  You have aided April-chan many times before.”_

_“But this time she wants us to meet someone.  A human.”  Leo sensed his father’s Chi tense._

_“Under what circumstances are you to meet this human?”_

_“I’m hesitant as well.  But it’s April.  She’d never lead us into anything we couldn’t handle.”_

_“Even so, there is always a risk when exposing ourselves.  How well does April-chan know this…?”_

_“Nia Anders.  April says she’s a girl that comes to Second Time Around every so often.”_

_“A customer?”_

_“Hai.”_

_“And what does this human need help with?”_

_The Jonin hesitated before replying.  “According to April, someone dangerous is stalking her.”_

_“Has April-chan identified this ‘dangerous’ person?  What makes her dismiss the police?”_

_“Sensei.”  Leonardo kept an even gaze.  “April has already exhausted all other possibilities.  She wouldn’t call us otherwise.  This human is in trouble, and she’s sure we’re the only ones who can help.”_

_Dark eyes locked on Leo, unyielding as an old mountain.  The blue-masked mutant lifted his chin and won a nod from his father._

_“If you believe you can withstand this mission, Leonardo, I will not rise against it,” Splinter said.  “You are Jonin.  Your decision will be respected, as I trust you.”_

_“And April.”_

_A smile tugged at Splinter’s snout.  “Of course.  April-chan is a Hamato by extension.  We cannot deny a plea from our own family.”_

_“We’ll leave in a few hours.  Mikey, Don, and Raph are preparing now.”_

_“Then  I will see you upon your return.”_

_“Hai, Sensei.”  Leonardo gave a bow then left._

Come nightfall, the ninja had ascended to New York City’s rooftops, where they began their journey to April’s apartment.  Along the way, Leo noted the group’s formation lacked unison.  At times Mikey strayed too far left.  Raph often jumped ahead.  While Don’s speed was inconsistent.  And despite correction, the Chūnin fell back into their habits.  It felt unnatural, but Leo could only blame himself.

‘ _We should’ve been topside weeks ago.  Now we gotta face a new obstacle in disharmony._ ‘

Splinter had warned him it would happen, yet Leo refused to listen, his anxiety blinding him to reason, to the obvious.  If a team didn’t heal together, how could they fight together?

Leo gave himself a mental shake; he needed a clear mind for the challenge ahead.  He would’ve felt more at ease, however, if the team didn’t need to meet a new human.

 “So the NYPD is out of the question?” Donatello asked.  He vaulted to the next rooftop with the experience only ninjutsu training could give then added, “Leo, is April sure?”

 “She swore it,” Leo replied.  He leaped over a roof shack, alongside Mikey.

“It seems sketchy.  I trust April, but…”  The genius sighed.  “Who’s this girl we’re meeting again?”

Leo landed on a slab of concrete, soundless before his legs propelled himself towards another ledge.  “A customer.  She’s staying with April because her home burned down.”

“Burned down?” Michelangelo interjected.  The youngest brother encroached on Leo’s left flank and when given a chance, flashed a hopeful look.  “Could she be—?”

Leo grunted.  “Can’t say, Mike.  Guess there’s a chance, though.”

_‘If it is her, I’m screwed.’_

“A chance ’a what, Fearless?” Raphael asked.

The Jonin spared a glance at the red-masked Chūnin.  “Nothing.”

Raph growled as his pace decreased to match the leader.  “Am I missin’ somethin’?”

“Yeah, a brain,” Mikey chimed in.

“Ya’re one ta talk!”

“April didn’t say any more than that?”  This time, Donny spoke, and Leo forced his gaze ahead to avoid his brother’s sensitive eyes.

“No,” he answered.

“I don’t know, Leo.  This just doesn’t seem like it should involve us.”

“I agree,” Leo said.  “But if April says we’re needed, we are.  She’s one of the few humans who has accepted us.  If we can’t trust her, who can we trust?”


	7. Unique  Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Nia meets the guys. Hope it amuses you as much as it did me. XD

* * *

**R** aphael stood alongside his brothers, awaiting the inevitable.  First reactions were always the same.  Were he human, he’d probably scream too.  And curse.  Yet such knowledge was far from a comfort.  It pissed him off, actually, much like the current pause.

Yelling, fainting, name-calling, a hysterical display of flying objects—Raphael had mentally prepared for every possibility imaginable.  Or so he thought.  Never had he been met with utter silence.  Others were either scared shitless or abnormalities themselves.

Nia Anders proved to be neither.

The human stared from the couch, pale features flush, long hair frazzled, body stiff like a corpse.  Only her eyes showed signs of life.  They darted over Raph’s features and it made him feel unbearably awkward.  Shifting, the hothead growled.  He refused to face Nia until her attention fell elsewhere.

“Evening!” Michelangelo greeted.  The orange-masked Chūnin abandoned the lineup with an overzealous smile.  “The name’s Michelangelo.  Yes, after the Italian Renaissance artist.  Call me Mike or Mikey.”  He outstretched a three-fingered hand so fast Raphael considered smacking the idiot upside the head.

Did he remember nothing from meeting April?

 Of course, Nia gasped and arched against the couch.  Rather than judge Mikey with disgust, though, she furrowed her brows, as if she recognized him from a distant dream.

“It’s cool, Dudette.”  Mikey kneeled at the couch then reached beside Nia to grab a decorative pillow, which he placed in her lap to squeeze.  “We’re gunna help.”

The following exchange could be described as both amusing and confusing.  Nia spoke in rushed sentences, Mikey retorting just as fast.

“Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni was born at Caprese, Italy on March sixth, fourteen-seventy-five.”

“I was born in a sewer.”

“The place is now referred as Caprese Michelangelo.”

“Well, I mutated in a sewer.”

“He was one of five brothers.”

“I only have three.”

“His strengths included sculpting, painting, architecture, engineering, and poetry.”

“I draw comics.”

“He was a solitary man who lived by necessity and took no pleasure in eating or drinking.”

“That sounds boring.”

“He died at the age of eighty-eight in Rome then was transported to Florence.”

“Not a bad age to die, I guess.”

Nia grew silent again, leaving Raph to share inquisitive looks with Don and Leo.  Both shrugged.  When the hothead sent the same look to Casey and April, they replied likewise.

‘ _That settles it,’_ Raph thought.  _‘This chick is weird._ ’

“Guys,” Mikey said, “she’s not shaking as much now.  Introduce yourselves!”

Leo dragged his heels when his youngest brother pushed him and Donny ahead.  Yet he withheld any scolds and led Donny to the coffee table hesitantly.  No one except a Hamato could detect the subtle widening of Leo’s eyes behind his mask or the way his fingers twitched.  A realization.

‘ _What’s wit’ Leo n’ Mikey?  They know this chick?_ ’

“My name is Hamato, Leonardo,” said Leo.

“After Leonardo di ser Piero da Vinci?”  Nia’s question was quick, spoken in a tremble.

Leo hummed ‘yes’ until all tenseness left his body and he offered a polite smile.  “Use my full name, if you’d like,” he added.  “Friends call me Leo.  I don’t mind either.  It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Anders.”  Leo bent at the waist to form a shallow bow.

“It’s a Japanese thing,” Casey told Nia.  “The guys are ninjas.  Real kickass ones at that.”

The brunette jerked her chin like she was about to nod, but stopped mid-way, gaze roaming towards the purple-masked mutant.

Don’s mouth split into a gap-tooth smile.  “I’m Donatello.”

“Donato di Niccolò di Betto Bardi?”

“If you’re asking if he’s my name-sake then, yes.  Raph?”

A firm nudge from Leo made Raph glare and the displeasure thickened his Brooklyn accent, “Name’s Raphael.  Call me Raph or whatever.”

“After Raffaello Sanzio da Urbino?”

Raph shrugged.

“Play nice, Man,” Casey interjected, half-serious.

The hothead’s eyes rolled.  “I am, Head Case.”

“Yer charmin’ smile says so.”

“Stop it, idiots,” added April with a sigh.

“Now that introductions are over, why not tell us why we’re here, April?”  Everyone faced Don, who regarded the redhead.  “Leo said you’d explain.” 

“Right, I kind of…strong-armed him into taking a leap of faith,” April admitted.  “Sorry about that, Leo.”

“It’s fine,” the Jonin replied.

“Anyways.  I’m still piecing together things in my head.”

Raph snorted.  “So ya called us here ta say ya’re confused?”

The redhead mirrored the hothead’s glare, hands balling.  “Being confused isn’t a crime, Raph.”

“What’d you see, April?” Leonardo asked.

“It’s not so much ‘what’ as ‘who’,” countered April.

“Spit it out already!”

“Raph, enough.”

“Stuff it, Fearless!”

“Guys!”  Donatello looked at Nia’s trembling body then sent his brothers pointed stares.  “Let April explain as she likes.  Go on, Ape.”

All eyes fell on the redhead, who spoke grimly, “Today…I saw Agent Bishop.”

### ━❖━

Leonardo sat on the wood floor, composed despite all he had heard.  April had been calm in her explanation, but not so calm that Nia could stand a re-telling of her parents’ demise.  The young woman had scrambled upstairs and slammed her door shut before April even mentioned running into Bishop.  None bothered chasing her, though; she had a right to panic.  And if Leo were honest, he thought it best she did so outside the brainstorming group.

“That’s why the police can’t be involved,” Leo said.  His attention lingered on some lights flickering in the upper hallway then locked on April when they eased.

April nodded from between Casey and Donatello on the couch.  “It’s too risky.”

“That guy’s bad news,” Donny muttered.

“We know, Genius,” Raphael spat.

“Raph.”

“What, Leo?  Ya wanna state the obvious too?”

Leo eyed the red-masked Chūnin leaning against the windowpane, quiet.  A retort would only encourage the hothead’s bitter mood.

“Can we get back ta what matters?” Casey’s Brooklyn drawl sliced through the brother’s staring contest.  “Ya’ll are the only ones qualified ta keep Nia safe.  Least ‘til we figure things out.”

April interlocked her fingers, squeezing them.  “Believe me,” she started, “if there was any other route, I’d take it.  But records pin her with me, so—”

“No,” Leo interjected.  “Even if there was another way, we’d never let you handle that scientist, let alone Bishop, on your own.”

“Still…”

Springing from his spot beside Leo, Michelangelo rounded the couch and wrapped his older sister in a hug from behind, saying, “Don’t sweat it, Ape.  We’ll tuck Nia away safely.  Then we’ll do what we always do.”

April smiled, weak.  “What’s that?  Eat pizza?”

“Survey says”—Mikey released his sister then mimicked a hand buzzer—“wrong!  The correct answer is: defeat the crazy baddies with our legendary skills of awesome.”

Donny groaned.  “You make it sound simple.”

“We’ve done it before, Mister Pessimism.”  The youngest Chūnin hardly allowed his brother’s words to tarnish his glee.

“By defeating Bishop and hiding,” Donny retorted.  “If Nia’s being tracked by an unnamed scientist, that’s one thing.  But if Bishop’s involved, do you really think she can meld back into society without some incentive keeping him at bay?”

Donatello’s comment hit Leonardo like a freight train. ‘ _Don’s right.  Despite years of fighting, Bishop still seeks the secrets lying in our Mutagen.  He’ll never give up his search for mutants and alien_ s.  _Wait._ ’

“April?” Leo questioned.  “Nia’s human, so how does Bishop fit into the picture?”

“That’s where I’m at a loss,” April admitted.

Donny tapped a finger against his chin.  “You saw him approach that scientist at the station.  Could it be Bishop isn’t involved after at all?  Maybe it’s coincidence the two men know each other.”

April’s head shook.  “Name someone else with ‘an unprecedented drive to get what he wants’.”

“Ya gotta admit,” added Mikey, “it’s a little fishy.”

“More than a little.”  April shifted uneasily.  “It was crazy, guys.  The scientist seemed adamant  that he should protect Nia.”

Sighing, Don crossed his arms.  “Meaning he’s either a good guy or has similar intents to Bishop’s.  Whatever those are.”

“As far as I can gather.”

A small pause swept over the room then, until Michelangelo plopped himself on the floor before April.

“What’d this scientist look like?” he asked.  April’s brows drew close as Mikey flashed a goofy grin.  “Humor me.”

“Okay.  Early fifties maybe?  Pasty.  Dark-eyed.  He wore nice clothes under an untied coat, but they could’ve used a good washing.  Or two.”

“Did he have a poufy mustache, Albert Einstein accent, and limbs like a scarecrow?”

April blinked.  “How’d you know?”

“Simple.  I’ve fought him.”

“You what?”

Leo sighed.  “Mikey—“

“Didn’t I tell you something was haunting her, Dude?  Didn’t I?  What do you have to say now?”

The orange-masked Chūnin spoke with more offence than haughtiness, which sunk Leo’s stomach.  Leo wouldn’t apologize, though, not for doing his job as Jonin.

“Ya’re in on this too, Fearless?”

“I’m not ‘in’ anything, Raph,” Leo countered.  “Mike left the Lair.  I went after him.  We dealt with a situation.  End of story.”

“What kind of situation?”  This time April butted in, obviously curious.

“We stopped Nia from being kidnapped,” Mikey answered with a frown.

“Kidnapped?  By who?”

“The same guy you just described.”

“But… Nia hasn’t mentioned anything about an attempt at kidnap.”

Mikey shrugged.  “Maybe she doesn’t remember?  The guy knocked her out hard.”

With a low groan, April let her head fall into her hands.  She was tired, Leo could tell.  The day had been long, and it was doubtful they’d get much further in their talk without snapping at one another.  So the Jonin rose, ignoring the stare from his hot-blooded brother, and motioned for Donny and Mikey to do likewise.

“It’s hard to guess their next moves,” Leo started.  “They could either team up or delay each other.  Meanwhile, we’ll take Nia.  Just…not tonight.”  Leo’s gaze lifted upwards.  He sensed Mikey follow suit.

“You can’t blame her for having a panic attack,” said Mikey softly.

True, but the reality of it left Leo with a frown when he faced April.  “You should probably speak with her before we set a time.  Without her cooperation, we’ll be useless.”

“Yeah,” Raph chimed in, “even Ape loosened up faster than that chick.”

Leo sent over a lazy glare then herded his brothers towards the window.  “What do you expect?” he asked.  “We’re a unique family.”

### ━❖━

Agent John Bishop supported his upper body along a cluttered, metallic desk.  Slowly, he inhaled in an effort to collect his rage.   Useless.  Strong fingers found their way to the desk’s lip, cupping it, bending it.

No one denied him information.  No one.  He stood at the top of the information food chain.  That is where he belonged.  All these threats—these monsters—must be dealt with.  Yet these fools dared impede his mission.

Their misconduct would not go unpunished.

“Sir?” a feminine voice questioned.  Bishop brought his eyes to the stony-faced brunette standing at his door way.  He need not ask her to continue; his hard stare said as much.  “What are your next orders?”

“Heal him,” the agent replied.  “Then start over.  Do it until he talks, Agent Barrett.”

“I will begin preparations immediately, Sir.”

“See that you do.”


	8. Home Away From Home

* * *

**A** pril eyed the beige chinos that Nia wore, asking, “You sure?”

“Y—yeah,” Nia answered. But no matter which way she tugged the pants, they still looked ill-fit on her pear-shaped figure—like stuffing a watermelon inside extra small leggings.

“Least the shirt’s big enough.” The redhead groaned on her bed.  “Sorry, I don’t have anything shorter or…wider.  The bags with your clothes were left at the mall.”

Nia shook her head, pursing her dark lips.  “It’s fine, Miss April.  Really.  Th—though my legs feel naked without tights…“

A spin later placed Nia before the full-length mirror draped squarely on the back of April’s closet door. The grimace it reflected roused a smile from April.

“Next time I go out, I’ll pick some up,” she said.

“I—I’m sorry to make you buy so much.”

“You gunna pay me back?”

“W—when I can.”

“Then don’t stress about it.  Besides, it’s best you avoid the public.  So long as Bishop and that German are doing Lord knows what. Nia?” 

Inching towards the bedroom door, Nia froze.  She avoided April’s penetrative gaze, even when the redhead left the bed to stand beside her.  The brunette simply folded her arms and looked away, as if doing so cloaked her in an invisibility spell.

“You really don’t know those men?” questioned April.

“I—I—I don’t,” Nia whispered.

“Your body language says differently.”

“Well, it—it’s wrong. I don’t know them. Neither of them.”

“That’s not what Mikey told us last night.  After you…left, he said that German had tried to kidnap you before.  Is that true?”

Nia either refused to acknowledge the fact or was lost in thought, standing silently. So April continued.

“Look, if you want help, trust us.  I took you into my home when I didn’t have to.  Now my family is taking you into theirs.  No one wants you hurt, but if you“—she struggled for the right word—“dismiss that help, we can’t do anything.  In the end, everyone will suffer.  Do you understand?”

Without glancing up, Nia replied in her soft-spoken voice, “I do. And I can honestly say I don’t know a German scientist or this—this Agent Bishop you mentioned.”

Although the young woman’s impassive face made it impossible to determine her sincerity, five days experience and a tingle told April she’d delve no further into the matter.  Sighing, she stepped aside, allowing her charge to exit the bedroom.  Nia did so with such haste, it tightened April’s chest as she shook the tingles from her arm.

Did Nia understand?  Unlikely. How could she? She grew up in Upper East Side, not the city’s underbelly. She didn’t know what a privilege it was for the guys to shelter her, for them to reveal themselves.  So how could she possibly return their generosity?  Or protect their existence as fiercely as April did?

Suddenly, the redhead dreaded her decision.  Her brothers were still burdened by July and it showed.  Could they handle this new stress when their own demons ran rampant?  Or did she just advocate the beginning of a disaster?

April hoped not. Then again…what choice did they have?

### ━❖━

“Field work is our best bet an’ ya know it, Fearless.”

“Stop being hasty, Raph.  We haven’t even given Anders a chance.”

“Yer only sayin’ that ta delay us goin’ topside.”

“I’m simply doing what’s best for the clan.”

“An’ who are ya ta decide what’s best?  Have ya asked any ‘a our opinions?”

“I’m Jonin.”

“ _Don’t_ throw that in my face.”

“It’s fact.”

“Whatever.  We just need ta act.  If Bishop’s hangin’ around, why not pay him a visit?”

“You’re kidding, right?  That’s stupidity, not progress.”

“Beats sittin’ around wit’ our thumbs up our shells!”

Donatello groaned, leaning on the bō staff he held upright. ‘ _It’s like they’re teenagers all over again. What do they hope to accomplish?_ ’

The genius admitted each standing intrigued him. That being said, he wished his brothers would debate in softer tones.  Raphael wanted to plunge into the mystery, while Leonardo argued they ought to exercise caution.  Nia was safe, so why rush? True.  But they shouldn’t dilly-dally either.

Dub Don the middle man.  He saw reasons to keep their distance and reasons why field work would be more beneficial.  Unfortunately, he couldn’t voice these opinions.  According to his older brothers, you were on one side or the other.  That left the genius with no other choice except await a conclusion.

Which just may take a while.

“You’re impossible,” Leo hissed.

Raph rolled his eyes. “An’ what makes yer choice mightier?”

“Maybe because it involves common sense?”

“If ya had it yer way, we’d be old an’ saggy before we made any moves.”

“Don’t over-exaggerate.”

“I ain’t.  Hell, it’s been over a month since we last patrolled.”

The Jonin scoffed.  “You’ve patrolled since then.”

“Like ya’re above yer own ‘rule’,” Raph added with a sneer.  “A kidnappin’?  I thought ya recognized the chick last night.”

“It was a one-time thing.  Besides, I had to find Mikey.”

“Don’t bring me into this!” Michelangelo cried.

“Yeah.”  Raph glared at the youngest brother kneeling backwards on the living room couch.  “What were ya doin’ topside, Doofus?”

“Getting fresh air,” Mikey answered.  “Leo and I just happened to be around Nia’s apartment when it caught fire.  We saw her and saved her.” 

Blue eyes found the clan leader, pleading…What?  Refuge?  Dismissal?  Forgiveness?

Don frowned.  Were they keeping a secret?

“A coincidence?” Raph asked.  “Ya think I’m gunna believe that?”

“Why not?”

“Fearless.” 

Three sets of eyes landed on Leonardo, who hesitated then spoke. “Mikey met Anders before me.  He helped her out of the sewers. Since then he’s been watching her due to a ‘feeling’.”

“Leo!”  Mikey vaulted over the couch, mouth agape.

“They’re our brothers,” Leo said.  “They should know.”

“More like you want them as paranoid over me as you are,” the nunchaku master muttered.

Leo tensed—a subtle yet dark action that clenched his fists. “I am _not_ paranoid.”

“Alright.  Time out.”  Donatello interjected with a loud and clear voice.  Once he gained the awareness requested, he sent his brothers pointed stares.  “We’re running in circles.  So what if Mikey met Nia before?  It prepared him to help with her claustrophobia.  Thought that was odd. Anyway, what we should do is relax, make a game plan.  Leo?  Mikey?  You said you’ve seen the German before?”

“Yeah,” Mikey replied, freckled face puckered, “I got a good look at him.”

“Then help me shift through public files. Between you and Ape, maybe you can identify him.”

“What about the rest ‘a us, Brainiac?” Raph spat.

Don rubbed his temple with a single finger, but before he could respond, Leo answered.

“We’ll train. We’re out of practice.”

“Whose fault is that?”

“Raph, I swear—“

“Stop it!”  The sharpness from Michelangelo was startling. His eyes flashed with what seemed to be a mix of exasperation, abhorrence, and disbelief.  It was an unsettling sight, Don decided.  “This isn’t about us. This is about helping, saving someone.  Do—don’t you see?  Nia’s scared and upset, like we’ve been for the last thirty-five days.”

“Mikey”—Leo paled—“you have the days counted?”

“Never mind that,” Mikey snapped.  “If we can’t pull ourselves together, how can she place any faith in us? I know we need her cooperation as well, Don, so if anythingI’m gunna befriend her.”

“Mikey—”

“I’m done talking, Leo.  Gotta make sure the new bedroom is ready.”  And so the youngest stalked down the narrow hallway beside Splinter’s bedroom, leaving a negative aura in his place.

“Sensitive mook,” Raph grumbled.

Leo remained quiet, so Don took it upon himself to say something. “Did you expect anything less?”

“Guess not. Che, I’m gunna train.”  Then, Raph too left the living room.

The new silence brought Don’s attention to his rigid brother.  “Leo?”

“He counted the days,” Leo whispered.

Don half-smiled.  “I’m not surprised. He’d been one of the ones to…”  The genius trailed off, incapable of finishing his bitter thought.

“Don?” Leo called.  Don grunted his acknowledgement.  “This time will go differently.”

Leonardo’s statement sounded more like a question, and Don sighed at it, saying, “Honestly, it depends on a lot of things. But with Mikey pushing us through...I think this time may be different."

━❖━

Hamato Splinter’s form was rock-solid, not once moving from the zabuton below it.  He surveyed the human across the chabudai much like a father would the first date of his only daughter. Or in this case, his sons.  While he never meant to intimidate, concern burdened his mind, and it translated as a hard stare he could not resist.

“Calm yourself, Anders-san,” he said, “I mean no harm.”

Wordless, the human squirmed over the zabuton she sat Indian-style on.

‘F _ear rolls off this child in waves.  Such Chi will only bring discomfort to herself and those around her._ ’

 “Forgive me, Mister Splinter.”  Nia’s response sounded hasty, panicked, and very soft.  “I’m thinking.  I—I—I don’t like being underground. It—It’s…hard.”

“May I inquire about your thoughts?”  Splinter awaited a reply. Her only reaction came in labored breaths.

 _‘Michelangelo told me Anders-san is claustrophobic_. _Even if coming here was a last resort, she is admirable for enduring it.  I wonder…what occupies her mind as a distraction?_ ’

 “I…I’m thinking about my parents,” Nia finally answered.

Splinter’s ears dropped. “Yes. I have heard of the calamity.  I am sorrowful for you, Ander-san.  Losing family”—Splinter drew in a pained breath—“is horrible, and to endure the grief afterwards leaves you feeling helpless.  But the pain eases, child.  I promise. Anders-san, are you well?“

Splinter’s nose detected salt as Nia bent in half, quivering.  An urge to outstretch a paw overcame the master, but he held it at bay in the knowledge that doing so may cause the human to cry harder or even run.  He remained stationary, his limbs tingling, until Nia’s tears slowed.

“Have faith, young one,” he said. “Turn aside from grief.  Aijou and sonkei, love and honor, must be your guides.  Trust in them, in my clan, and yourself.  Only then will you find release.” 

Nia lifted her head, enough to show a range of emotions pass over her face.  The transition lasted no more the two seconds, and by the end her expression settled into an emotionless grin.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

There, he spotted it: a flicker in her blue-green eyes that reflected distress. “Something more is troubling you, Anders-san?”

Nia looked down at the chabudai.

“I see.”  Straightening, Splinter softened his gaze.  “I shall not pressure you into telling me.  However, consider my words.  You must not let grief smolder inside you.  It is a monster, one which swallows even the most jovial spirit into a bottomless pit. I know the pain well, the lost helplessness and guilt that must leave you exhausted.  So believe me when I say you cannot allow that monster to catch you.”

“I understand.”

‘ _But do you believe?_ ’  

Splinter doubted she did; however, he knew well the limits of others. “Our home is open, young one.”  He was surprised at how easily he withheld uncertainty from his voice.  “Now, why not go see Michelangelo?  He seems excited to have a guest.”

Splinter smiled, but Nia looked dead when she left.

### ━❖━

Michelangelo stepped back from his masterpiece then nodded.

It looked great!  Well, great with what could be expected from a previous weapon closet.  The space was more of a prison cell than a bedroom; however, a touch of Turtle Magic had stashed the weapons in Raph’s room in favor of more cozy touches.

Like a lamp, crate end table and cot, which laid flush against the brick wall.  It may’ve required a patch job, but that was hidden by a blanched comforter and two pillows Mikey had snuck out of Leo’s room. Here and there were decorative knick-knacks, mainly anything weird or artsy.  Nia seemed knowledgeable about art.

‘ _Wonder if I should add more pictures or if it’ll make things worse.  What if—_ ’

“Pardon Klunk.” Leonardo’s voice drifted down the hall before he could be spotted. “He doesn’t usually take to strangers, but he’s never been so aggressive with one. Uh, this is where you’ll be staying.  It isn’t much, but…we do what we can.”

Leo stopped with Nia at what could now be considered her room.  The human looked white as a ghost, and Mikey could only assume she still felt nauseous.

“Guess you’ll take things from here,” Leo told Mikey. The younger brother nodded, guiding Nia forward.  “Night then.  Be sure to get some rest.”

“He’s such a mother hen,” said Mikey once the Jonin was out of ear shot.  “Guess that’s his job, though.  Anyways, this is your room.  It has no door or partition because I wasn’t sure if that’d make you uncomfortable. But the bathroom is down the hall by Master Splinter’s room.  You can use that to change and whatnot. Sound cool?”

Nia stood by the cot, back turned while she touched the lamp shade with shaky fingers.

“Uh,” Mikey continued, “the things April bought are in two bags under the cot and your statue is on the shelf beside the doorway. Oh! And your sketchbook is on the side table, in case you missed it. Should you change your mind on anything, let me know. Nia?”

The brunette’s fingers found the warped end table.

“Listen”—Mikey’s tone adopted a serious edge—“things look bleak, but I promise: we’ll do everything in our power to help.  Just stay strong. Have faith, as my father says.  Meanwhile, welcome to your home after home. I hope you sleep well enough.”  Mikey flashed a smile before spinning on a heel.

Just as he stepped foot in the hallway, Nia’s faint voice called out behind him, “Wait.”

Michelangelo did as requested.  “Yeah?”

Nia kept her back towards him, her hand lingering on her sketchbook.  “I—it was you, wasn’t it? The one who helped me out of the sewers?”

“Am I that distinguishable?”

“I…I recognized your voice.”

“Ooh, flattering.   I was just trying to help. Seemed to work.”

Nia said softly. “It did.  Both times.”

“Well, mission accomplished.  Right?”

Nia met Mikey’s warm gaze.  Her face was impassive at best, yet she offered a smile, saying, “Thank you.”

“Fugetaboutit.  But I have been wondering…what _were_ you doing down here? Did it—did it have something to do with what’s happening?”

Nia’s smile died.  “I’m really tired, Mister Michelangelo,” she whispered.  By the time Mikey blinked, she retreated to her cot, gaze set on the area rug beneath her feet.  “Please, let me rest.”

“Sorry,” Mikey muttered.  “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but you should know I’m a skilled listener. No matter what my bros say. If you ever wanna tell someone, I’m available. Night, Dudette.”

Michelangelo entered the hallway then, only glancing over his shoulder once.


	9. Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raph's getting antsy LOL. And I'm off the Puerto Rico, so dunno when I'll next update.

 

* * *

 **C** ould this day get any worse?

Raphael didn’t think so.

First, he had awoken to a heavy box against his head. After tripping over a yari and nearly smashing his foot with a kusarigama weight, he had tracked down the idiot who thought it funny to stash their weapons overflow in Raph’s room rather than the Dojo. Fearless stopped him short, however, which left the hothead feeling deprived and fighting a migraine.

Second, the day’s training session sucked. If an hour could be considered a ‘session’. While training alone was always an option, Raph had recently rediscovered the thrill of sparring.   Unfortunately, Donatello busied himself with research, and Leonardo retreated into meditation. That left Michelangelo. Only, the shell-for-brains preferred humoring the human who had invaded their Lair two days ago.

Then, to top things off, Sensei had been watching Raph’s shell like a cop on stakeout. Almost like he knew his son would rather be topside.

‘ _This is bullshit_ ,’ Raph thought, reclining on the living room couch. ‘ _I’m sick ‘a waitin’. It’s all we ever do! Everyone wants give that Anders chick a chance, but she’s been useless…_ ’

“Why don’t you tell me some things about yourself, Nia?”

Raph repressed a groan and glanced sideways, where Michelangelo sat at arm’s length from a sun-bleached armchair. On it, Nia hugged her knees, her pale featured pained like usual. She was dressed in a dark hoodie and sweatpants, and her long hair glistened with water down her sides.

‘ _Must ‘a finally caved inta Mike. Then again, he has been mentionin’ a shower every oddah hour._ ’ Snorting, Raph returned half his attention to Ultimate Wrestling Smackdown, yet kept the other half on the conversation.

“Come on,” Mikey whined. “I’m sure talking will help you forget all about your claustrophobia.”

Raph needn’t face Nia to know she grimaced.

“Uh-oh. You aren’t gunna throw up again, are you? Should I get more Chamomile?”

Nia swallowed audibly. “N—no, I’m okay.”

“Just let me know if you feel like hurling.” Mikey paused, probably smiling again. “So how old are you?”

“Um, I—uh…”

“It’s not a hard question, Dudette. For instance, I’m twenty-three.”

“I’m…twenty.”

“You work?”

Silence.

“No? What about school? College?”

“N—not yet.”

“Oh. Then did you…did you spend a lot of time with your family?”

A gasp escaped Nia. It caught Raph’s interest, but only momentarily.

“Ma—Mama worked long hours,” said Nia softly. “And Daddy would be out most the day. So—so I…I’d hang out with them…at night.”

“I—I’m sorry.” Mikey’s voice dropped from eager to gentle. “I shouldn’t have brought them up.”

“It’s fine…”

”Alright. New topic: got any hobbies?”

An expected pause followed, although it seemed short compared to the ones Raph usually received. “I…do art.”

“Really? What kind?”

“P—painting, mostly. Aside from graphite, I—I—I—I love acrylic. A—and,” she drew in a sudden breath, “3-D elements. Collages. Dimensions, ya know? Volume. Layering. Shadow-box.”

“You’re rambling,” Mikey sang, offbeat.

“S—sorry…”

“So you like hands-on things.” Genuine intrigue ran through Mikey’s voice. “I prefer illustrations myself. Mainly with ink. I love ink.”

“You draw?”

“Yup! It’s been an interest of mine ever since I was a turtle tot.”

“Turtle…tot?”

Mikey gave a light-hearted chuckle. “Since I was a baby!”

“You mean you were…?” The woman trailed off with what Raph assumed was misguided respect.

‘ _Like she’s gunna offend by askin’ if we were ever small._ ’

“That’s right, Dudette. No one’s told our story yet, have they? We kind of overlooked it with all the craziness going on. Oops! Wanna hear?”

Nia must’ve nodded because Mikey continued.

Of course the bonehead explained their history in an over-dramatic manner that made his brother’s eyes roll. Honestly. Their origin could be told in a single sentence: once, they were regular Sliders that belonged to a boy, but after being dropped into some TCRI ooze in the sewer, they mutated into humanoid kick-ass machines. The end.

Raphael gave thanks once Michelangelo finally stopped talking, and Nia remained wordless for several moments.

“So you…age like humans?” she asked.

“We do a lot like humans,” Mikey answered. “Think. Eat. Talk. Train. Dream. Only notable inhuman thing about us is—well.” The nunchaku master chuckled. Kind’a. “So? Anything else you wanna know?”

‘ _He’s seriously actin’ like this is supposed ta be normal?_ ’

“Anything at all? Questions going once. Going twice. So—”

Raphael roared. “Why don’t ya talk about somethin’ useful, huh?” He sent the duo a glare, which Nia avoided. “Ya’re artists. Why not sketch that scientist for Don? He still hasn’t found a lead, an’ until he does, we’re grounded. Same as before, but wit’ the addition ‘a _her_!”

Nia countered Raph’s pointed finger with a disturbingly impassive stare, leaving Michelangelo to speak in her place. “Dude, don’t blame your frustrations on the new girl. It’s not classy. Besides, April and I already gave Don a sketch composite. All we can do now is wait.”

Wait? Bullshit!

Raphael stood from the couch then chucked the remote at its cushions, imagining they showed his brother’s stupid grin. Behind him Mikey said something along the lines of ‘Don’t mind Raphy Boy. He’s a hothead.’

‘ _Idiot. Ya were upset about bein’ grounded too. Before Anders came along. Che. Sometimes, I envy yer easily distracted nature._ ’

Growling, Raph slid open the Dojo’s shoji screens like a hungry predator ready for action. His gaze immediately found its intended target: a punching bag littered with patches. Yet, to his surprise, someone else used the bright-lit space.

“Leo?”

Leonardo concluded his kata and released a long, steady breath.

“Trainin’ wit’out us?” Raph added.

Umber eyes met him. “No. I’m preparing for training.”

“Like a good student.”

“Everyone needed a break.”

“What about ya?”

No answer. Figures.

Raph marched to the punching bag at the room’s west end. His callused fingertips brushed the fabric that kept the sand inside then curled into a fist. Twap! The dense bag shuddered at Raph’s power, and if the Chūnin hadn’t rolled sideways, it would’ve won their match. Raph repeated the move several times, until the bag danced in circles from the ceiling, he panted, and Leo spoke up.

“Want to spar?”

Raphael flipped backwards along the tatami mats then smirked. “What took ya so long ta ask, Fearless?”

And just like that, the ninjas were at a stand-off.

Leonardo waited patiently under Raphael’s stern stare. Too patiently. The hothead growled. How could Leo stand monitoring his actions? It seemed tedious. And annoying.

Screw it.

Raph lunged forward. His brother dodged by rolling sideways, so Raph countered with a roundhouse kick. Leo, kneeled down, caught the Chūnin’s ankle, twisting it. Raph bent backwards with a hiss, but used an open-palm to deter the fist hurling towards his side. Leo anticipated Raph’s following punch, and used his inertia to sling himself around his brother, where he performed his own roundhouse kick.

Raph’s limbs moved on their own accord once he regained balance. The sound of sliced air whipped above his head as the Chūnin ducked. He twisted behind to seize Leo’s ankle, which he jerked upwards, stranding the Jonin on his carapace.

“Time off has made ya soft, Fearless,” Raph said, chuckling.

Leo snorted, already crouching with narrowed eyes. Controlled or not, the leader hated loosing just as much as the hothead did.

“Are ya really content loungin’ around?” Raph asked while avoiding another kick—this one a tad harder to miss.

“What do you mean?” Leo countered. He dropped to sweep Raph’s legs, except the Chūnin flipped backwards as he did so.

“Ya know what I mean, Fearless!” Raph growled then slipped a hand under his brother’s armpit to toss him over his shoulder.

The Jonin regained composure as quick as a falling cat. “There isn’t much we can do, Raph.” He vaulted over his brother to give the younger ninja a snap-kick to the back.

Raph stumbled onto his hands and padded knees when another strike impacted the same spot. It was unrelenting, stronger than the first, and his muscles twitched against the tatami floor. Leo reinforced his initial blow before the Chūnin could rise, leaving the hothead winded on his plastron.

“I win.” The satisfaction evident in Leo’s tone stung Raph’s esteem and swelled his brotherly pride.

“Whatever,” the hothead spat. He was partially muffled by the ground. “Now get the hell off my shell!” Unwanted weight vanished in seconds, allowing Raph to flip over and eye Leo. “When are we gunna get back out there, Fearless?”

Leo looked up from the mats to meet Raph. The blank expression across his face did little to hide his true intents; Raph could practically feel the gears moving like clockwork in his brother’s mind.

“We need more training,” Leo said. “We haven’t returned to the unity we once had before…”

“Ya think sparrin’ will fix that. No. Patrollin’ will, an’ ya know it.”

Leo sighed.

“Come on, Fearless. It’s time we got back out there. An’ who knows? Maybe we’ll find some clues. The EPF kind.”

“Raph.”

“What?”

“We aren’t looking for trouble.” Leo pursed his mouth. More gears turned until their decision manifested as a glint behind the Jonin’s blue mask. “Tomorrow. A few hours. Mainly surveillance.”

“Finally!”

“However”—Leo’s interjection sunk Raph’s stomach—“we ask Donny and Mikey if they’re up for it.”

“They’re up for it,” Raph said.

He flipped to his feet then offered his brother a hand. Leo took it with caution, but rather than give into the urge to toss the Jonin, a growling stomach reminded Raph he’d rather eat then start another match. This time.

“Wanna see if Knucklehead’s started dinner?”

Leonardo nodded, so the ninjas headed for the kitchen. Something pungent overwhelmed Raph’s senses outside the dojo. It was an unpleasant smell he recognized as burnt food, but he couldn’t figure out how it tasted sweet at the back of his throat.

“Is that smoke?” Leo asked. He pointed at a gray cloud seeping from the kitchen into the living room and when he stepped closer, a figure dashed between him and Raph.

“Nia, wait!” Michelangelo emerged from the kitchen, waving a dish towel.

“What’s goin’ on?” asked Raph. He sidestepped his younger brother to survey the kitchen.

‘ _What the hell?_ ’

Baking ingredients lined the limited counter space like a small army—an army that had gone to war and lost. Flour flowed from the microwave, down the cabinet, and onto the floor while a styrofoam carton leaned against the sink’s wall, its eggs cracked and bleeding. Two bottles were tipped by a plastic bowl, one of vanilla extract and the other…soy sauce?

Leo passed Raph until a soft ‘crunch’ sounded. His foot spread a raw egg yolk across on the concrete floor, and his expression would’ve made Raph bursting with laughter if the Chūnin hadn’t noticed Mikey first.

‘ _I hate seein’ the idiot like this._ ’

“I was trying to cheer her up.” Mikey spoke with the pain of a letdown child.

“Of course you’d turn to food for that,” Leo commented.

“Even if we were cooking from scratch, it seemed alright.”

“Obviously not,” Raph added. “What were ya makin’, anyway?”

“Cookies,” answered Mikey. “Thought it’d be easy, but…”

Amber eyes landed on a baking sheet atop the flour-coated microwave. In it, four rows of charred circles could’ve been ninjas themselves by the way they blended into the dark metal.

“She got better.” Somehow, Mikey sounded offended. “I think she grew embarrassed, though. That’s why she ran.”

‘ _Surprise, surprise._ ’ Raph faced Mikey again and soured because the confusion in the youngest’s blue eyes tightened his chest. ‘ _Why is he lettin’ her get ta him? If she’s embarrassed, it ain’t his fault._ ’

Now growling, the red-masked Chūnin approached the counter space beside the sink, where many round sweets created a grid across two additional cookie sheets. Their perfect gold-brown color and aroma only aided in the temptation, so Raph plucked one from the right.

“Wait, Raph, don’t!” Mikey’s warning came too late.

The hothead chewed and swallowed the cookie. Then, its true flavor sank in. His mouth dried up like a dessert, burning just as hot as one’s sands, and he began gagging as he scrambled for a cup.

“Sorry,” Mikey said behind him. “That was from an earlier batch of hers.”

To his relief, Raph found a fractured cup that had been sealed with bright duck tape. He brought that to the sink.

“You mean the burnt cookies are her best batch?” Leo’s voice reflected more guilty amusement than surprise as the tap filled Raph’s cup.

Once the water reached the rim, he downed it without turning off the faucet, listening to Mikey’s reply through his gulps.

“Yeah. The left batch is mine, by the way. That’s probably what Raph smelled.”

“Thanks for the warnin’, Shell-for-Brains,” spat Raph. He glared at his youngest brother and waited impatiently for his cup to refill.

“Serves you right for being greedy.” Mikey had the audacity to smirk, although it soon faltered. “I don’t get why she shies away. There’s nothing wrong with being a bad cook. I mean, Leo only makes ramen, and we still respect him.”

“Thanks,” Leo said as bland as his expression.

“What happened in here?” In unison, the trio twisted to greet the last Hamato sibling. Donatello stood beside their dining room table, looking less-than-pleased.

“Yo, Donny.”

“Mikey was making cookies with Anders-san.”

“Tryin’, ya mean.”

Don sent them a calculating stare, almost cold. It wasn’t natural, not for the good-natured brother.

‘ _He must be tired from work,_ ’ Raph concluded. He devoured his third cup of water. ‘ _He ain’t standin’ strong, an’ those bags under his eyes say he hasn’t slept in a day or two. Did he look like that this mornin’?_ ’

“I’m just here for coffee,” Don said flatly. The purple-masked Chūnin shook his head, as if his brothers were nothing more than children, but Leonardo blocked his path before he could reach the coffee maker.

“Donatello.”

‘ _Know that look. Brace for a lecture, Donny Boy._ ’

“When’d you get to sleep?”

“What are you doing, Leo?” Don snapped. “I just want coffee.” Again, the genius attempted to pass. Again, Leo blocked him.

“When?” the Jonin added in his obnoxiously stern tone.

“You didn’t question me this morning.”

“You didn’t look this fatigued this morning.”

“I’m fine. Now if you let me get some coffee, I can go back to work.”

‘ _Wonder if Genius knows he’s swayin’ as he says that._ ’

As if Leo read Raph’s mind, he squared his shoulders. “You didn’t go to bed last night.”

Donny groaned, rocking in his aggravation. “Look. My job would be much easier if I had a name to go by, not a vague face. All I can do is shift through a plethora of state files from companies and colleges. But I don’t think you quite grasp how much effort that shit takes.” The genius’s voice had darkened and he didn’t bother to temper it, even under Leo’s displeased gaze.

“Donny.”

“Who’s to say we’re even looking for a true scientist?” Don went on as if Leo never spoke. “Are we supposed to take his word for it? What if he doesn’t live in New York? What if he lives in another state? Another country? He did have a German accent. Do you know how many people live in Germany, Leo?”

“Donny.”

“Eighty-one point eight million.”

“Donny.”

“Then there’s Bishop. Who knows what the hell he’s up to.”

“Donatello!”

“What!”

“You’re tired.” Despite the simplicity in Leo’s statement, it held weight.

Don’s body betrayed him before he could argue any further. Yawning, the genius leaned too far back. Leonardo steadied him then led him to a chair at the dining room table. His protests were pointless and he sunk into the seat without a fight. Mikey snatched two cookies from his batch to offer before sitting down as well.

“You can’t sacrifice your health over this,” Leo told Don. He sat beside the bō master. “We need you in top shape.”

“I know, Leo. It’s just…frustrating.” If Don hadn’t been talking, Raph could’ve swore his brother was asleep.

Leo nodded, yet his frown remained. “Answers will come, Donny. In time. For now, you should sleep. We all should get rest because tomorrow”—the Jonin hesitated—“we’re going on patrol.”

“Wait, you serious?” Mikey perked up like a puppy being offered a treat.

“Yes,” answered Leo. “That is, if you and Donny think we should.”

Mikey made a face. “You want our approval to go topside?”

“No.” Don set his bloodshot eyes on the youngest Hamato. “He’s asking if we’re ready to move on together. Right, Leo?”

Leo maintained his cool stare.

“Well, count me in!” What less could be expected from the restless Shell-for-Brains?

“Me too.” Donny’s reply came sluggishly yet absolute as Leo turned to Raph.

“I already gave my answer,” the hothead said. “It’s time.”

“Then it’s settled. We leave at ten.”

Raph smirked while Leo and Mikey escort Don from the dining room to upstairs, although more than a butchered cookie turned his stomach. ‘ _Finally, we can get back ta what we’re meant for_. ‘ _An’ this time we won’t screw up. I’ll make sure of it._ ’


	10. Sides

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Found some internet! LOL. Hope you enjoy, R_Unwordly. :)

 

* * *

 **W** ithin her temporary bedroom, Nia Anders studied the watercolor landscape hanging at the foot of her cot. Its cheap frame lacked one side while stains surrounded the paper in a yellow-hued border.  Errors in minor—yet important—technical skills told her it’d been drawn by an inexperienced hand.

Still, she found herself drawn to it as one is to a picture crafted by a child.  It was unbridled, vibrant. Its creator proved, despite their poor draft skills and paint handling, that they didn’t fear failure or learning.

‘ _So brave,_ ’ Nia thought. She tucked her knees under her chin then sighed. ‘ _I envy them.  There hasn’t been a time in my life where I’ve been that fearless, even in art…_ ’ 

Somehow, the thought tugged at the young woman’s self-esteem.  How odd. She’d never been ashamed over her cowardice before.  Why the change? 

‘ _Perhaps it’s because I’m alone now…Oh, what’s going to happen?  I can’t stay here forever.  Once it’s safe, I’ll go back home and…move on._ ’

Such a notion sent a shiver through Nia.  Her parents had always been her support, and within the last week she found that being without them was like being without stable ground.

‘ _I miss you guys so much, Mama, Daddy._ ’ Nia blinked her tired eyes.  ‘ _I don’t know what to do. Being down here…hurts.  I should leave soon since my migraines are getting worse, but I’m also too scared to ask…_ ’

That aside, where could she go?  The NYPD?  It seemed liked a reasonable conclusion. However, Michelangelo had made it a point to remind her any ‘topside’ contact would be dangerous.  He insisted she bear with them, and she didn’t fight his determination. That felt impossible.

‘ _Why does Mister Michelangelo try so hard to know me?  I’m only intruding._ ’

Not that the human was ungrateful. She just couldn’t fathom opening her home to a stranger if she were in their position.  Didn’t they feel vulnerable? Where was their self-preservation?

‘ _Guess they’re more courageous than me, to conquer that.  And Miss April had spoken on my behalf.  I get the feeling they wouldn’t have taken me in so easily otherwise._ ’

If Leonardo’s and Raphael’s stares were any indication, Nia’s deduction was spot on.  Whenever she ventured into the ‘Lair’ she felt eyes following her.  Sure, their concern was understandable, but their criticism also left her feeling uncomfortable and unwelcomed.

‘ _Why don’t they believe me?_ _Even Miss April thinks I’m hiding something, but I’m not. Agent Bishop sounds like someone out of a Sci-Fi movie.  And the German scientist?  Daddy knew lots of scientists.  Why does that mean I do as well?  I_ hate _scientists …_ ’

Groaning, Nia swung her legs over the cot’s edge then closed the sketchbook beside her.  A pulse through her skull made her cringe, so she resolved to see what remedies could be found in the kitchen.

‘ _I saw tea yesterday when I was—_ ’ Nia sighed, shifting through dirty cabinets. ‘ _I never should’ve caved.  The cookies turned into a disaster, just like I said they would, and…I didn’t have the guts to help clean. Was Mister Michelangelo disappointed?  Maybe I should apologize…Now where is that stupid tea?_ ’

“May I be of assistance?”

Sweet, Mona Lisa! Nia knocked over a cereal box in her haste to turn around.  A four-foot rat, clothed by a maroon robe, met her with a pride reminiscent of her father.

“Mi—mister Splinter?” she questioned. “You—you scared me.”

“Forgive me, Anders-san. I know our existence is still new to you.”

“It’s not that. It’s just…” Heart slowing, Nia swallowed as she picked up the cereal box. “Ne—never mind. Uh, what does ‘san’ mean?”

Splinter rounded the island counter, a smile crinkling his dark eyes. “It is a Japanese honorific. Would you like tea?”

Nia nodded stiffly.

“’San’ is akin to Mister, Miss, or Misses,” the rat added. He put water to boil on the stove then retrieved the tea Nia had searched so hard for. It was on the other side of the kitchen.  “What tea do you prefer, Anders-san?”

“I…uh…”  The artist avoided Splinter’s gaze; it was more piercing than his sons’ gazes.  “Do you have Chamomile?”

“Yes.”

The two finished brewing their tea in silence.  With a mug in hand, Nia thanked the mutant, turning. Splinter’s voice stopped her before she stepped foot outside the kitchen.

“Anders-san, have you found peace?”

The question enraptured Nia. When she faced the rat again, she found herself lost in his gaze rather than avoiding it.  What’d he mean by ‘peace’?

Splinter smiled and spoke as if leading a child, “Come. Let me show you how to meditate.”

### ━❖━

If a plane existed above exhilaration, Michelangelo had transcended it.  He felt weightless over New York’s rooftops, like his new-found freedom was helium that propelled him forward.  How he’d missed the thrilling leap from one building to another. The heart-stopping adrenaline of mapping a safe path through the urban jungle, barely confident in his success.

He wasn’t alone either. Whether through tested limits, effectiveness, or contained excitement, Mikey sensed his brothers’ anticipation. And not one of them frowned. Save for Leo.

“Michelangelo, you’re running too far ahead.”

Mikey sent a grin over his shoulder. “You’re just too slow, Bro!”

“Told ya time off made ya soft, Fearless.”  Raphael flipped past Leonardo as the Jonin snorted.

“Surveillance is our main focus tonight,” Leo said.  “Secondary is rebuilding teamwork.  Meaning: we can’t run around aimlessly.”

Leo halted on a flat rooftop—a command for the others to follow suit.  Mikey and Raph backtracked to meet Donny at their Jonin’s side.

“You’re taking this seriously, aren’t you?” Leo asked them.

“Yeah, Fearless,” Raph answered. His hand twitched against his sai’s hilt.  “I’m just ready for some action already.”

Leo shook his head, a scowl on his face.  “I told you yesterday.  We aren’t looking for trouble.  This run is a team exercise. And if we happen across that scientist, good.”

“Could ya be any duller?”

“What other exercises did you have in mind, Leo?”  Don intervened for everyone’s sake.

Leo began explaining ideas and expectations.  Maybe a few lessons. To say Mikey found interest in his words would be a lie.  The group became white noise as the youngest’s attention drifted.  He inhaled wafting scents from Thai restaurants and smiled at the orange-tainted sky dotted by clouds and a round moon.

‘ _It’s a shame we can’t see any stars out here,_ ’ he thought.  ‘ _That’s the only thing I miss about the Farmhouse. Well, that and hanging out during the day.  Oh well._ ’

City life suited him best anyway.  Peace may be nice, but without stimulation Mikey knew he’d go crazy.  So, he easily let the thought slip away in favor of another one.

“Hey, guys,” he called.  However, the three brothers were lost in their conversation.  “Guys!”

Leonardo groaned. “Mike, were you even listening?”

“We’re on Hudson Street.”

Raphael snorted. “What of it, Shell-for-Brains?”      

The orange-masked Chūnin ignored him.  Instead, his eyes settled on their leader, who hardened his expression.

“No,” Leo said.

“It’s just down the road.”

“No.”

“But—“

“Mikey. No.”

Leo’s voice strained, yet Mikey kept eye contact.  “Visiting isn’t harping.  It’s respectful.”

“There’s a fine line between the two. You often cross it.  We aren’t going.”

That tone.  That glare.  After twenty-three years, Mikey knew better than to hope his eldest brother would budge.

“Fine,” he grumbled, turning and folding his arms.  He heard Leo’s footfalls from behind, but remained focused on the skyline.

“Mike.”  Leo touched his brother’s carapace.  “We said we’re moving on. Let’s prove it.  Right now.  Dude, you’ve already started.  Last Friday you were with Anders instead.  Wouldn’t you say that’s a good change?”

Mikey sighed.  “I guess. It’s just hard. I feel like I’m disregarding...you know.”

Leo released a hollow chuckle.  “Believe me, I know.  But you aren’t. Okay? You aren’t.”

It took little urging for Mikey to face his brother. When his head lifted, Leo’s smile eased the knot in his stomach.

“Okay,” Mikey said with lopsided lips.  “Guess our focus should be on Nia anyway, huh?”

A sardonic laugh made Michelangelo face Raphael. The hothead leaned against the iron base of a water tower that loomed over the building they were stationed on.

“Got a problem?” Mikey asked.

“Problem?”  Raph rubbed his nose. “I’m just laughin’ ‘cuz ya’re funny.”

“Finally recognizing my genius, eh, Raphy Boy?”

“Shut it, Kucklehead. I’m talkin’ about how ya think we can help someone who don’t even help herself.”

“Forgive me, Master of Astuteness. I forgot how well you know Nia, given the whole hour you’ve spent with her.”

“I don’t need ta sit wit’ Anders ta know.”

“Seriously, Dude? You haven’t even given her a chance.”

“Yeah, I have. An’ every time it ends the same: wit’ her shuttin’ down.”

“Gee, I wonder why.” Raph’s face soured as Mikey growled. “Must you always think negatively about people?”

“I call things as I see ’em.”

“Then you need glasses!”

“Whatever. Klunk don’t like her either. What’s that mean?”

“Guys, enough.”  Leonardo stepped forward and held a hand towards each brother like a wall.  But neither sibling budged their stare.

“What’s gotten into you?” Mikey questioned Raph.  “You’ve been treating Nia like a—a parasite.  You were never this hostile towards April.”

“April was different.”

“How so?  We helped her too.”

“Dammit, Mikey.”  The hothead grunted, rotating his shoulder as if doing so would deter any violent urges.  “Helpin’ ain’t the problem.”

“Then what is?  Seriously, I don’t get why she bothers you.  Unless this has something to do with your nightmares. In which case, it isn’t _her_ fault.”

Quick as lightning, Raph stiffened.  He looked aside and spoke softer than before. “I don’t have ta explain myself.”

“Don’t even.  You’re the one who brought all this up!”

“Michelangelo, stop.”

Mikey hadn’t realize how close Leo stood until the Jonin caught the youngest’s bicep.  He felt confused by the umber eyes that regarded him with disproval, and after the grip dropped, Mikey backpedaled.

“I—I don’t get either of you,” he said, his stare bouncing between his two eldest brothers.  “Why am I the bad guy for being on Nia’s side?  What’s wrong with that?”

“It blinds you,” answered Leo.  “I understand why you so desperately want to…Look, Raph’s handling things his own way.  And before you blow up”—he pointed a finger at Mikey, who’d sucked in warm air—“I’m not saying Anders doesn’t deserve respect.  I’m trying my hardest as well.”

“Sure.”  Sarcasm oozed from Mikey’s words.  “So your hardest includes eyeing her like a store clerk eyes a kleptomaniac?  No wonder she doesn’t leave her room.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is!  Both you and Raph are guilty of it.”

“It’s just cautiousness.”

“That’s not cautiousness, Leo. That’s flat out  _paranoia_!”

Damn.  Mikey did it; he spoke a forbidden word.

“Forgive us, Michelangelo,” Leo hissed through clenched teeth. “Not everyone can justify trust with something as silly as a gut feeling.”

The youngest hated how his eyes stung. He fought his tears and steeled his voice so it wouldn’t crack.  By then, Leo’s scowl had fallen.

“If I recall, my ‘silly feeling’ saved Nia,” Mikey whispered.  “Maybe you can’t understand because you have grown paranoid, no matter what you say.”

“Mikey”—Leo sighed as his brother neared the building’s ledge—“I’m sorry.”

“Forget it.”

“I didn’t mean—“

“I said forget it!”

“Maybe he shouldn’t.”  Donatello must’ve spoken thoughtlessly because he paused before continuing in a less assertive tone. “I—I know I haven’t been as open-armed about this situation as Mikey. But I agree with his point, Leo.  You and Raph have been a little…”

“A little what?” Leonardo added.  “You think I’m being paranoid too?”

“Relax. I was gunna say ‘intimidating’ or ‘standoffish.”

“So now we’re branded uncooperative ‘cuz we don’t bake cookies wit’ her?”

Michelangelo spun wildly at Raphael’s question, his eyes narrowed, his fists clenched.  “Don’t patronize me!”

“Was I talkin’ ta ya?”

“I’m not stupid!”

“Ya sure?”

“There’s nothing wrong with befriending her.”

The hothead scoffed.  “Doubt she feels the same.”

“Why do you gotta be so damn stub—“

The crisp ‘whoosh’ sliced the air between Raph and Mikey. Only with a grim sigh did Donny reposition his bō staff back on his carapace.

“I never meant to start another argument,” said the genius.  “This just proves another point.  We can’t keep fighting each other.  Yes, we have different opinions.  Taking sides, however, is counterproductive.  I don’t want us divided anymore, do you?”  Donny gave each brother a pointed stare, though Raph ignored it.

“You’re right, Don,” Leonardo replied.  “I don’t mean to pick sides. Or be a side, for that matter.  It’s just…this Bishop business makes me uneasy.”

“Don’t use poor excuses, Leo.”

Wow.  Had Donny just said that?  Mikey could hardly believe it.

“Excuse me?”  Leo’s question held a dangerous edge, despite his flabbergasted look.

“Our enemies have nothing to do with our problem, this problem,” Donny added. “You asked if we’re ready to move on, but I don’t think you’ve prepared yourself for that. Not really.”

Leo wanted to reply—everything from his parted mouth to his clenched fists said so.  Yet he remained quiet, eyes trained on the unflinching genius.  A stare-down like this was rarer than a smart Purple Dragon, and Mikey found himself torn at whether or not to disturb it.

He needn’t endure the torment long, though. Something from the sky stole his choice.  There was little chance to cringe at the ‘twack’ that met Leonardo’s skull, so Michelangelo settled for gawking as the leader’s body hit the concrete rooftop, face first.

“Is that a…sack of change?” Donny asked, stifled by amusement.

“Looks like it,” said Raph. He sniggered through his nose as Donny removed a gray bag from Leo’s head.

“Dude, is he still conscious?” Mikey added.

“Of course I am,” Leo spat.  It took a moment, but the Jonin regained his posture, his mouth downturned.  “Where the hell did that come from?”

“Above,” Don answered.

The group wasted no time in scanning for suspects.  Mikey’s eyes caught three figures ascending a company skyscraper.  One paused against the moonlight, as if defying gravity, before following the others.

‘ _He’s probably the one who dropped the change._ ’ No sooner did Mikey sense Raph’s smirk did a flash of red and green dart past his peripheral vision.

“I got ‘em!” Raph cried.

“Raph, wait!”

“I’ve been waitin’, Fearless!”

Leo should’ve expected as much. Mikey chuckled as the Jonin groaned and withdrew the nunchaku from his belt. Them, he too ran. Soon, he found himself side-by-side with the red-masked Chūnin.

“Leo try ta stop ya?” he asked.

“Never gave him a chance,” Mikey replied, grinning like a Cheshire cat.  “They’ll be along.  Meanwhile, wanna go greet our new friends?”

Raph smirked. “Sounds like fun.  Me first.”                                                           

Mikey saw no reason to challenge Raph’s lead.  Instead, he fell in stride behind his brother and veered only when the latter cut off the thieves’ path.  A child-sized figure anticipated what would come next. It jumped before it fell victim to Raph’s outstretched arms.  The remaining two, however, weren’t as perceptive.

They tripped, gravel dirt flying with their skids.  A jewelry trail was left in their wake, courtesy of the freed burlap sacks.  Mikey took care not to damage any pieces when he leapt over his brother. He meant to immobilize the downed thieves with the butts of his nunchaku.

Unfortunately, they recovered quicker than expected.

Mikey dodged an uppercut, only to receive a kick to his lower plastron.  The mutant grunted, but captured the fist of one thief. He twisted it at his side then blocked the sidekick from another thief with his shin.

The Chūnin growled, hurling his free first at the tallest opponent’s face. It connected with a substance harder than cartilage or bone, and shot pain through his arm.  He barely had time to hiss let alone plan a counterattack before the same opponent swept his feet from beneath him.

‘ _What the hell is that dude’s face made of?_ ’ Mikey thought, gasping. 

Another pain struck the Chūnin. He was powerless against the force that rolled him sideways over the gravel and he couldn’t rise from the rooftop without vertigo forcing him back down.

‘ _It’s like he hit my head, not my side.  Just who are these people?  Is Raph having this much trouble?_ ’ 

Mikey looked up through unfocused eyes.  His vision cleared after a few blinks, and once it did, his stomach sank.  Raph struggled with the thieves’ barrage.  Some moves the hothead countered with open palms, but most found their target.  One slip-up later, they floored Raph as well.

‘ _Where are Leo and Don?  They couldn’t have run into more of these guys…could they?  Maybe we should’ve stayed together after all._ ’

Mikey winced at the loud footsteps that crunched through the gravel.  They brought dread with them, which grounded the Chūnin’s gaze.  When the thief squatted, though, Mikey managed a hard glare.

“Come to gloat?” he hissed through bloody lips.

“No,” the hooded figure replied, flat.  “To warn.” He tilted his chin up, and in the shadows casted by his hood, one of his eyes glowed red.

“Are you…?”

“If you wish to live, turtle, steer clear of us.”

All Mikey remembered next was blackness and a dull ache in his jaw.


	11. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These poor babies... :(

 

* * *

 **I** t crept into his mind, looming, consuming, unrelenting. The darkness.

It encased him, sought only to contain him.  But he wouldn’t be contained. Not by something he had spent years honing.  It was supposed to be his ally, his advantage, yet here…it was far from such.

Why? Since when had the dark become a villain? How long had it wanted him destroyed? His racing mind couldn’t pinpoint an answer.  A deep tug at his chest, though, reminded him that his heart already knew. Perhaps that’s why he ran.  To stop would mean succumbing.

Raphael never succumbed.

The Chūnin pushed on until his limbs felt like lead and his lungs burned with heat so intense it parched his throat.  Only then did he drop, a fist clenched against his scarred plastron as he sought oxygen.  His vision blurred in and out of focus, and his body shook violently.

He swore the darkness laughed.

‘ _Damn it_ ,’ he thought.  ‘ _Damn it all!_ ’ His six fingers curled across his collar bone as he screwed his eyes shut. ‘ _Damn that night! Damn those bastards! But most of all…damn me!_ ’

Damn me. As if those words were a magic phrase, all air returned.  Raph lurched forward and sucked in long, greedy breathes.  He tried shaking the haze from his mind, but doing so only worsened his lightheadedness. When he finally regained the strength to stand, he panted, surveying the area. 

Darkness no longer surrounded him.  He stood in a bare city street with skyscrapers lining both sides like sentries.  They spanned as far as the eye could see—both ahead and behind—and their caps faded into an abysmal sky. Raph felt like a rat in a maze while walking the lamp-lit streets.  He only did so because remaining idle would’ve driven him insane.

Or so he thought.

By block number six, the silence had left Raph unnerved.  Where were the traffic honks?  The irate pedestrians yelling profanities at rude drivers?  Or vice versa.  Where were the roaring subways?  The live music at Central Square?  Hell, even parks had their own theme of excited dogs and kids.

Yet here, silence reined. Worse still, there were no trashcans or newspaper stands Raph could vent his anger on!

The hothead screamed, removing the sais from his leather belt then hurled them.  The weapons clanked against the asphalt as he stalked forward. But his attention shifted when a chill swept over his shoulders.  Raph whirled, his body assuming a fighting position. It proved unnecessary. The only thing behind him was…

“Mikey?”

On a street corner, amidst puddles of dried blood, Michelangelo sat, motionless.  His legs folded under his slumped body like one who’d suddenly lost their ability to stand, and Raph feared death’s touch had left an empty shell behind. Tears threatened to overwhelm him as he, against all better judgment, eased towards his brother.

With what intent?  He wasn’t sure.  But he couldn’t just stand there. Nothing should devastate such a nauseatingly optimistic person.  Nothing.  Heaven help those responsible, too, because Raph held no mercy for anyone who harmed his clan. Empowered by that thought, the Chūnin planned to demand an explanation until he stood before his sibling.

Amber eyes trailed to a bundle of blankets no bigger than a football.  It squirmed in Mikey’s loose grip, subtle yet certain.  Raph hesitated before reaching down to remove the cloth that kept the being inside hidden.

A dark void revealed itself.  For a second.  Then the space warped into a pair of familiar brown eyes.  They peered up from the bundle, focus disturbingly precise despite their dead glaze.

Raph gawked, his throat tight.  Instinct urged him away, yet fear anchored his feet when the bundle squirmed again. This time, it freed a tanned arm. The arm looked misplaced for one so small because it belonged to a preteen.  It grappled at Raph’s shin.  He felt its nails digging into his flesh, working their way up.

Still, he remained frozen.

Another squirm released a head, which inflated like a balloon until it swelled to the size of Raph.  Its features were as lifeless as its eyes, tan like its arm, and identifiable as a boy of Hispanic descent.

Could Raph scream now?  No; his vocal cords denied him the release.

“Why?” the deformed being asked in a broken voice.

Raph shook his head as the one-armed monster continued to its climb. A waft of decay filled Raph’s nostrils, bringing bile to back of his throat.

“Why?” the being asked again.  “How could you?  You’re a hero. A Phantom.”  The head loomed over the rigid Chūnin and snarled.  “Why?”

“I,” Raph whispered.

“Why?”

“I—It wasn’t supposed ta…”

“Why?”

“Stop.”

“Why?”

“Stop!”

“Why!”

“I’m sorry!”

### ━❖━

Raphael jolted from bed.  The sudden action made him swoon and he found no furniture to brace himself with, though his arms searched.  His knees made contact with the concrete of his bedroom floor, but their sting paled in comparison to the bile projecting from his mouth.

‘ _That’s what I get for havin’ a heavy dinner_ ,’ Raph thought.

His jest did little to lighten the mood.  He waited until all nausea subsided then wiped his mouth and staggered up. The movement reawakened other pains that sleep had let Raph forget. With a hiss, he rubbed a hand over his bruised collarbone before touching a crack in his pectoral plastron.

‘ _Can’t believe someone half my size beat me down like that! Whoever he was, he must’ve been on steroids. It’s the only explanation for his crazy strength._ ’

Raph left his bedroom in search of a mop and scowled as he searched the supply closet at the end of the hall.

‘ _I could’ve found a way ta beat him, but I had Mikey ta handle after the big guy knocked him silly. Think everyone can agree last night was shitty._ ’

Behind a 70’s vacuum cleaner sat the desired mop. Raph also grabbed a plastic bucket, but then realized it’d need to be filled in the bathroom downstairs since the tub was the only thing deep enough to accommodate it.

‘ _Figures. But I can’t clean wit’out water._ ’

Raph expected his father to be watching late-night Soap Operas when he neared the staircase, yet the living room was dark and quiet.  Good; he loathed the idea of being questioned about the bile that dribbled down his plastron.  Michelangelo had caught him in that state once. While the Shell-for-Brains had been considerate, what few teases he made had wounded the hothead’s pride.

‘ _Then the dumbass breaks his promise an’ brings up my nightmares anyway.  He knows I didn’t want…_ ’ He sighed. ‘ _Just make the trip quick._ ’

Raph disregarded the lights as he descended the stairs towards the bathroom. A partly shadowed figure at the dining table caught his attention along the way, though he didn’t pause.  He positioned the bucket beneath the bathtub faucet, perhaps harsher than it deserved.

‘ _Why is Anders sittin’ in the dark? If she’s up, she should make herself useful wit’ research or somet’in’…._ ’

Raphael twisted the tub’s clear knobs, which gave a low groan as water worked its way through the pipes. Then, he used a sponge to clean the bile from himself.  Neither task took very long, so Raph left the bathroom within a matter of minutes.

Rather than returning to his bedroom, he loitered in the living room, attention set on the young woman slumped in a chair.  Part of the Chūnin advised him to ignore Nia—to go back to his mess, clean it, then head for bed. Even so, his legs refused to budge.

_“I don’t understand why she bothers you so much.”_

 Raph grimaced at the memory. What a stupid statement.  How could Nia not bother him?  She was far too polite for a New Yorker, like a robot.  Her soft voice made it difficult to hear any replies, not to mention her emotionless attitude. Worse still, were those blue-green eyes.

‘ _I can’t stand the way she looks at us. Like she’s dissectin’ our bodies wit’ her eyes.  It’s freaky!_ ’

Freaky and unnatural. So why did Raph step forward then?

“Hey,” he called, “it’s late.  Shouldn’t ya be asleep?”

Either Raphael’s presence went unnoticed or Nia refused to acknowledge him.  Regardless, the human remained silent, even when Raph set down his bucket and took a seat beside her.  He initially guessed she’d fallen asleep at the table. Then he noticed how her fingers brushed a statue. It glittered within the stovetop’s light, like a model, but its hollow eyes and skeletal features made it look haunting.

“What is that ugly thing?” Raph asked.

“I—t’s not ugly,” Nia countered.  It was her quickest response yet.

“No ‘Mister Raphael’ this time?”

Nia’s gaze found the hothead then returned to the statue.

“Forget it,” said Raph with a sigh.  “But seriously, what is that?  Looks like a ghost.”

“It’s…not a ghost.”

“Then what is it?”

“An angel.”

Raph quirked an eye ridge.  “We got some very different opinions about angels.”

“That’s what Daddy called them.”  The offense in Nia’s tone pleased Raph.  “H—he said…he’d tell me that they were my guardians.”

“They?”

Nia straightened her arms across the tabletop.  “Th—this guy is part of a series from South America.  My family, well…D—Daddy has been collecting them all my life.  He’d get one every year. This is number twenty.”

“Let me guess. One for each ‘a yer birthdays?” Raph leaned back in his seat and watched Nia’s dark lips form a reminiscent smile.

“Yes,” she whispered.  “Daddy told me…when I was small he took me to Second Time Around.  I apparently started picking them out for him.”

“Somethin’s wrong wit’ that story.”

“Wh—what do you mean?”

“Second Time Around has been open for eight years.  Least under April’s care.  Think her father started it before her, but I ain’t got a clue how long ago that was.  How could ya have childhood memories ‘a it?”

“B—because the store _was_ open.”  Nia’s fingers tightened around the statue.  “I—I’m very sure of it.  Though…back then a man ran it.  Mister Kirby O’Neil.  It—it’s true it closed…for a while.  During those years, w—we bought the statues from another store that overtook the consigning.”

“So yer history goes all the way back ta Ape’s father, eh?”  Raph meant to use a casual tone, yet sounded cynical. The woman tensed, growing quiet, and the hothead considered slamming the table.

‘ _Thus she falls inta her usual cycle.  Figures. Should I go back upstairs now or what?_   _It’s her business if she sits here. Still…_ ’

“Ya haven’t answered my question,” Raph said. A moment passed before blue-green eyes drifted his way.

“W—what question?” Nia asked hesitantly.

“Why ain’t ya sleepin’?”

The lump Nia swallowed was obvious.

She began twirling her long hair, and when her pause persisted, Raph added, “It’s a simple question. If ya don’t answer it, fine. But Mike’s gunna blame me if ya stay out here, so—”

“I—I had a nightmare.”

Raphael froze mid-sentence then drew in a deep breath. “Do ya…wanna talk about it?”  The Chūnin cringed at his uncertainty.  “I mean, if ya wanna get it off yer chest or whatever.  It can help. Mikey says. Then again, this is the same guy that wears a cheese hat ta do chores.”

Nia glanced up and Raph noticed how dark the bags under her deep-set eyes looked.  “D—do you have nightmares?” she asked.

“Sometimes.”

“Is that why you’re up?”

The Chūnin twitched.  “Look. Ya wanna talk or not?”

“I—I…” Nia sighed then drew her statue into a hug.  “If you, uh, think it’ll help me sleep, I’ll try anything.”

“I make no promises,” Raph retorted.

The young woman hummed, sight set on her ghost statue.  “It’s just one,” she whispered.  “I’ve been having it ever since…since I was taken in by Miss April.  I don’t want to sleep because it comes so often.  I try to shake it.  I know it’s not…it’s not the truth, but I—I…I can’t get it out of my head. I can’t help feeling it’s real.”  

Raph leaned forward so he could better hear the human’s broken voice.  Nia tensed at his proximity, save for her shoulders, which shook.

“What do ya mean by ‘it’s not the truth’?” he asked.

“M—my parents. The nightmare…is about how they died.”

“The fire.”

Nia closed her eyes.  “I—I can’t get their faces out of my head.  Mama’s hurt, bleeding. Daddy tries to keep her safe, except someone interferes.  They’re separated by this guy.  He’s unidentifiable, but in my dream he _feels_ like a demon, a—a monster. My stomach churns, and…I grow breathless and my body tingles like I’m swimming through needles. What I remember next is—is Daddy’s expression. It’s in so much pain, twisted, red…” Her breath hitched.  “He screams, though I can’t hear what he’s saying over the flames.  Something tears me away, an unseen force.  And I can’t get to him. No matter how far I outstretch my hand.  I can’t help…I can’t do anything. Then it all goes black…” 

The last word left Nia’s lips softer than a whisper.  It mirrored every ounce of guilt and distress found in her shaking body, and tied a knot in Raph’s stomach simply because he had a weakness for distraught women.   She seemed so fixated on the table that Raph swore the confession was for it, not him. 

Maybe the table would’ve been a preferred confidant since Raph could offer no words of wisdom or comfort.  All he could do was remain silent in hopes that the sobbing human found a little peace in having voiced her dream.  Only when her tears dried up did he talk again.

“Think ya can sleep now?”

“P—perhaps,” Nia answered with a sniffle.  She avoided eye contact, yet offered a small smile.  “Uh…th—thank you.”

“It’s not’in’ ta thank. But I guess ya’re welcome.” 

Raph slid his chair back so he could stand then returned to the water bucket he had abandoned.  As his three fingers wrapped around the bucket’s handle, Nia called his name.

“What?” he asked.

“About last night,” she started. “When you and Mister Leonardo—“

Raph glared, soured by memories of failure. “What of it?”

“W—well, you both returned late carrying Mister Michelangelo and Mister Donatello…”

“An’?”

Nia frowned.  “Neither Mister Leonardo nor Mister Donatello has talked to me.  M—Mister Michelangelo briefly mentioned what—what happened last night, but I believe he’s…he’s holding something back.”

“Really? Sucks bein’ on the receivin’ end ‘a that, eh?”

“Please,” Nia whispered. “He said the thieves you fought were well-trained. Like the man who supposedly tried to take me on the night of—of the fire.  C—could you just tell me if—”

“If they got an alliance wit’ the German?”  At her nod, Raph scoffed.  “Doubtful.  April’s confident the German is either actin’ alone or wit’ Bishop.  Yeah, the guys from last night were…weird, but they were all about jewels ‘n gold.  Don’t worry about ’em. Not all fighters are connected.”

“I see. T—thank you.” Nia attempted a smile, although it died under the hothead’s glare.

“We _can_ catch bad guys,” he said. “Those thieves wouldn’t have beaten us if Leo hadn’t been preoccupied when Don passed out.  Idiot.  We’ve been tellin’ him he needs more rest.”

“And yet…he’s already working again?”

“Against Leo’s better wishes. It’s just the kind ‘a turtle he is. An overachiever.”  Sighing, Raph retrieved his bucket then sent Nia a strained smirk.  “Next round will be different.  An’ since they’re my business, not yers, I’m sure ya’ll sleep fine. Alright?  Night.”

Nia breathed a light sigh as the hothead walked away.  “Good night…Mister Raphael.”


	12. Meditation

 

* * *

 **A** pril fidgeted, a cell-phone pressed against her ear.

“She’s sleeping again?” someone asked over the line.

“Sorry, Detective Reese,” April answered.  “You just call at poor times.”

“Every time? For the last week?”

“It’s a gift?”

There was a long sigh from the phone speaker.  “You can’t wake her?”

“No! I mean, I shouldn’t.  She’s finally settling into the idea of”—April licked her lips—“being an orphan.  It drains her, and we found she doesn’t talk much.  When she says she’s ready, I’ll tell her you called.  A lot.”

“Funny.”

“Seriously, though. Do you take this much interest in all victims?”

“Sometimes.  I care, and it’s my job to follow up on cases.  Besides, Nia hasn’t filled out a police report.”

April cringed.  “Right.”

“It’s been a while.  She should’ve filled it out when the fire happened. I didn’t make her because she was in shock.”

“And we’re grateful for that.  Um, how much time does she have?”

“It’s best to do it as soon as possible, so details aren’t forgotten.”

“Can we do it over the phone?”

“No”—the detective grunted, likely fidgeting as well—“New York State Law demands it be done in person.  She can either come to the police station or I can go to your apartment.”

“Can someone else fill it out for her?”

“No.”

“Damn it.”

“Miss O’Neil?”

“We’ll figure something out.”

“What’s there to figure out?  All she has to do is—“

“Uh, coming, Casey! Forgive me, Detective, there’s something I have to do.  Call you soon.  Bye.”

April snapped her cell-phone shut quicker than you can say hello.  Or goodbye.  She hurled it at the leather couch where Casey sat, its trajectory shy of pelting the man in the groin.

“Oi!” Casey cried. “Wouldn’t wanna damage that.” 

The redhead scoffed then rubbed her face with a groan.  “This sucks. I don’t want Nia in trouble, but odds are high the police are being monitored.  It’s a lose-lose situation.”

“Uh, Earth to April. Nia ain’t the only one bein’ kept from surveillance. Remember?”

“How could I forget?” April slid across the wood floor with her socks. She joined her boyfriend on the couch, pouting.  “I feel guilty being here when the guys are holding down the fort in New York.”

Casey snorted. “An’ I think this is a dream vacation.  Neither ‘a us wants ta be here. But we agreed leaving the city would be best.”

“Still. Maybe we should go back.  I feel too far away in Massachusetts.”

“Come on. Where would ya stay?  The shop’s compromised. Ya hate intrudin’ on the guys. An’ a hotel would be way risky, even if ya paid wit’ cash.”

“You don’t know that.  The guys have been patrolling for days and haven’t seen any EPF soldiers or that German.”

“So?  Why take the chance?”

April jeered. “You’re warning _me_ about chances? Great. Add ‘body-snatchers’ to the list of problems we gotta deal with.”

Sighing, Casey situated himself so one leg folded over the couch cushion and the other remained grounded.  “Ya said yerself we shouldn’t return until we got more news.”

“But who knows when the hell that would be?” The redhead sent her boyfriend a glare.  “Investigating Gavin’s colleagues at Lyngavaer proved useless. Any information on Erudio is generic at best.  I swear Don and I have shifted through so many websites for schools, laboratories, private practices, and science organizations that I see articles in my sleep.  Like, it’s a black and white movie in there. Our only lead has been a face. It isn’t enough.  It’s just—just—unbelievable. That’s what it is.  It’s—it’s—it’s—“

“April.”

“What?” April locked eyes with Casey. Only then did she realize how badly her lips trembled.

Casey scooted over to wrap a toned arm around the redhead’s waist.  He was brave enough to guide her head so her cheek rested against his chest.  April would’ve shunned his meddling on a usual day, but today she admitted it was the only thing keeping the Farmhouse intact.

“It’s frustrating,” April whispered.  She tensed, her jaw square with a determination to contain her tears.  “I feel useless at a time where my brothers _need_ to succeed. Not just for Nia’s sake, but for…”

“Ya ain’t useless, Ape,” added Casey.  “You ‘n Don are smart, real smart.  What oddah nerds exchange encrypted messages in their daily lives?”

“You want a new bruise, don’t you?

Casey chuckled at his girlfriend’s pointed stare. “Ya guys got this. Ya just need a little extra brainpower.”

“Brainpower?” April gasped.  “That’s it!”  

Jumping up, April left in search of her computer from the kitchen.  Casey sat, dumbfounded, until the redhead returned, a black laptop in hand.  The computer had no need to boot up, seeing as how it’d been running for days, so April immediately began composing an e-mail.

“I don’t get it,” Casey said. “What’d I say?”

April’s lips quirked upwards.  “Genius minds often miss the simpler solutions.”

“Simple?”

“It’s why it’s healthy for them to have lower IQ assistants.”

“That sounds like an insult.”

“Don’t worry, Casey. I’ll give you proper credit.”

“…What?”

### ━❖━

Leonardo struggled.  He sat in the Lotus Position on a tatami mat placed in the middle of his bedroom.  But instead of finding peace among the candles and incense, his mind grappled against its own thoughts like a cage match between wild animals.

‘ _The other night was a disaster,_ ’ he thought.  ‘ _Raph and Mikey should’ve waited.  They knew better and their overconfidence led to their defeat.  Mikey said the thieves were unordinary, though his eyes were probably playing tricks on him.  He needs to control that imagination of his…_

 _‘Then there’s Donatello. He’s more tired than he lets on.  Guess it’s my fault for assuming he’d be fine.  He’s been on a caffeine and work diet for so long, his body’s crashing._ ’

As Jonin, he never should’ve let his team fall so low. They were disorganized, restless, and no matter what Raph claimed, their cohesiveness had regressed. Because of him.

Leo growled, yet maintained his Lotus Position.

One learns from failure.  However, the older the Jonin grew, the more he realized failure wasn’t an option.  Not for them.  Not for what they were.

What if they didn’t cover their tracks?  They’d be found by their enemies, possibly the NYPD.  What if they slipped, exposed their existence?  He could see Mikey or Raph doing that.  What if they botched a plan?  Got caught off guard?  What if…what if one of them got killed because of one simple mistake?

‘ _One mistake, that’s all it takes._ ’ Leo gripped his scarred knee pads, fingers shaking. ‘ _My brothers say I should’ve moved on already, let us return to patrolling. But how could I?  I’d been so close to losing…I couldn’t bring myself to take the risk, no matter what._ ’

Leo grimaced, his stomach sinking when he recalled an early teaching from his father.

Osore—fear—is a destructive force.  It settles within one’s psyche, subtly and unknowingly like bacteria.  The disease had struck Leo some time ago. Even now he felt it dictating his decisions.  Perhaps the only force keeping it restrained was his heart.

‘ _Don said I wasn’t ready and I couldn’t reply because…he’s right. This anxiety has been a part of me for weeks. But it mustn’t spread anymore, not if I want to keep balance. And with Ander-san in the Lair…Mikey, I’m sorry. I had to agree with Raph.  Her loyalty is too vague.’_

Jin.  Benevolence.  Splinter’s memory sunk Leo’s heart.

‘ _Sensei, I find it difficult to have compassion on someone so…ambiguous. Mikey seeks the good in others to a fault.  Sometimes I feel like he’s trying to convert her feelings. That maybe she doesn’t want help from mutants after all._ ’

But could Leo abandon Nia if she had no desire to stay?  Could his conscience allow that German or Bishop to win?  No.  Not without good reason, anyway.  Nia hadn’t endangered the clan. By default she deserved a chance.  Besides, she couldn’t leave without promising to keep the Hamatos a secret.

 _‘If she never trusts us, things could get difficult. For now, I’ll honor April’s wishes.  We all will. We can help._ ’

Resolve overcame Leonardo, easing all doubt, apprehension, and muscle in his body.  He inhaled while seeking the Astral Plane beyond their Physical Realm.  It neared as the seconds ticked until it came within grasp.  Exhaling, Leo freed his breath alongside his mortal consciousness. Together they flowed out.

In this form the Jonin phased through his bedroom, drawn by his clan.  Out the door and over the railing, Michelangelo played a video game in the living room with Klunk curled against his thigh.  Energy discharged from him like a power plant—some positive, most negative.  His playful nature was tainted, and Leo felt guilty for it.

Tuesday, he’d dashed his brother’s optimistic outlook on Nia.  Before that, he’d refused to trust the youngest’s empathy.  While gut feelings were rarely reliable and never logical, he should’ve shown support.

“I’m sorry, Mike,” he said, touching his brother’s Chi. Then he entered one of the Lair’s brick niches.

There, a tall figure slept in an office chair before an over-complicated computer.  Donatello.  Normally the genius matched Leo in serenity, often times more so.  Not today.  Fatigue had thrown his Chi into disarray, and Leo cut through it to pat his brother’s shoulder. A content sigh escaped Donny’s lips, though Leo still sensed his tension.

Tension. 

Leo searched the Lair for the ninja who most often harbored tension: Raphael. Of course the Chūnin was nowhere in range, and anger strained the Jonin’s hard-earned control.

‘ _That irresponsible idiot. What’s he doing? Just wait ‘till he gets back._ ’

Groaning, Leo pursued his next objective. Splinter. He found him in the Dojo. The master kept as controlled as an army general, but barely. Leo needn’t guess why, either.

A foreign Chi filled the room, its waves rolling off Nia in pulses. They pushed Leo’s sprit backwards, sent tingles through his core. Had all this raw emotion been bottled inside Nia? It outshined Raph’s Chi like a blue star to a red star, and Leo shivered, watching Splinter. The master rationalized with Nia, yet the harder he tried, the stronger the emotions churned. Until they discharged.

The resulting force ripped Leonardo from the scene back into his physical body.  A wheeze escaped his throat and he stumbled up before his consciousness comprehended his body.

“Otōsan!”

### ━❖━

Hamato Splinter and Nia sat in the Dojo, one in front of the other. “To become immersed in meditation,” Splinter said, “one must resist arising thoughts that may enter their mind and remain focused on the sensation of the breath. This is the first stage of meditation.”  He drew in air then exhaled.  “Concentrate on that one thing. Nothing else.”

Breathe in.

Skilled ears caught a hick before the act could be completed.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

The breathing grew erratic, more panicked.

Breathe out.

 “Anders-san.”  Splinter opened his eyes to see Nia swallow hard.  “You are still burdened by unease.”

Like a scolded child, Nia cast her vision downwards.  “N—neither you nor anyone in your family makes me feel uncomfortable anymore, Mister Splinter.”

‘ _Still so brief, so guarded. What do you fear, Anders-san?_ ’

By now the old master should be accustomed to Nia’s behavior.  Yet the wall she had built up between her heart and the world had become harder to breach compared to a week ago.  It taxed Splinter’s generous patience, especially since little progress had been made in gaining her trust.

“Nia-san.” Splinter clasped his paws.  “I speak not of my clan.  The discomfort lies elsewhere, deeper.”

Nia remained silent.

“To meditate is to concentrate.  Its objective is to clear the mind so one can find peace and balance. It cannot do so if you do not release your emotions.  Anders-san, have you disregarded my warning and allowed grief to fester?”

“No, Mister Splinter,” replied Nia, curt.

“You are under our protection now, child.  I cannot idly sit and watch your soul sink into darkness.  Believe me when I say my sons desire nothing more than to help.”

“So Michelangelo has said. But…why?  You owe me no favors.  You have nothing to gain. Y—You haven’t even known me that long.”

The mutant rat forced a smile.  “My sons and I form a clan who follow the ancient teachings of Bushido.  It is our life, our code, and we try our hardest not to stray from it.  Gi, yuu, jin, rei, shin, yo, and chuu.  In corresponding order they are rectitude, courage, benevolence, respect, honestly, honor, and loyalty.  With these values in mind, my sons seek to bring peace to this city and protect the good hearts of others.”

“Good hearts?” Nia flinched as if the words were sour.   “H—how can you tell if—if someone’s good?  What if you…protect the wrong person?”

“Are you saying you are not a good person, Anders-san?”  Splinter’s tone adopted a slight edge.  He remained composed, though, even in the knowledge that his son’s astral presence had just entered the room.

“No,” Nia whispered, her head ducked, “that’s not what I meant.”

“What was your intent then?”  At Nia’s long pause, Splinter sighed.  “Anders-san, please understand.  Agent Bishop is a determined man. Whatever his purpose, it is heinous.  Donatello and April-san have been hard at work, yet they still cannot identify the German scientist.  We cannot assess the situation’s true danger, which leaves us vulnerable. Even so, my clan strives to find answers.  They strive to keep you safe.  So tell me”—he found Nia’s blue-green eyes—“why would you reveal so little when you know we face a standstill?”

“I—I—“  Nia’s body seized.  She gasped as if she were choking then doubled over.

“Anders-san?” Splinter’s voice found its gentleness again when he saw her shaking form.  “Anders-san, what troubles you?”

Splinter raised a paw towards Nia, yet paused.  A sensation circulated through his limbs, prickling like needles.  It left him heated as collided with the Dojo wall.  That is when his body grew heavy and the world faded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go... >o>


	13. Fault

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Got caught up in life. xD

 

* * *

 **D** onatello repressed a sigh.  Leonardo hovered over Splinter’s cot in the Lair’s Lab, and although Don had pushed the Jonin back twice before, Leo always returned.

“Will he be okay?” Leo asked, strained.

“Yes,” Don answered.  “Now will you stop?  The last thing Master Splinter needs is someone breathing in his ear.”

“Sorry.”  Leo stepped back, yet kept close enough that he could touch the unconscious rat lying beneath a kakebuton.

“What happened?” Michelangelo questioned.  He sat beside the cot and scanned their father through watery eyes.

“We should be askin’ Anders that,” Raphael spat. 

Sighing, Don swiveled in his seat to face his brother.  Raph stood in the Lab’s arched doorway, a scowl on his face as he fidgeted with his sais.

“We can’t blindly blame Nia,” Don told him.

“No one else was there,” Leo interjected.  He spoke with a dangerous calmness that tossed Don’s stomach.  “Besides, I saw it happen.”

Donny hummed.  “Through Astral Projection.”

“If you were more spiritual, you could do it too, Don.”

“I’ll take your word for it.  We’ve seen some crazy things.  Still, is it possible you didn’t see what you think you did?”

Leo remained silent, so the genius continued.

“All I’m saying is that we can’t jump to conclusions.  You and Raph blame Nia, but what reason could she have for hurting Splinter?”

“Yeah,” Mikey added, “we’re just trying to help.” 

Don spared a look at his younger brother perched on a stool.  Mikey resembled a confused child, and Don understood why.  The jokester saw Nia as a good person.  Don did too.  So, the genius failed to comprehend why someone with no violent history would suddenly lash out.

‘ _Nia was mumbling, crying, when I entered the Dojo_ ,’ thought Don, ‘ _Like she hurt too.  Just what happened?_ ’

Don shook his head, regaining the attention he hadn’t realized he let slip.  He watched Mikey longer.

The youngest’s expression morph from confusion, to hurt, to defiance.  “This isn’t her fault,” he said.  “Nia wouldn’t do this to Sensei.  There’s another reason.”

Donatello met his younger brother’s gaze, nodding.  “I think so, too.”

“How is Anders not responsible, Shell-for-Brains?” asked Raph gruffly.  The red-masked Chūnin returned his sais to their home then crossed his arms.

“If you took time to understand what’s going on below the surface, you wouldn’t say that, Raph,” Mikey retorted.

Raph mirrored the youngest’s glare.  “Anders don’t make that easy, now does she?  If anythin’, her reclusiveness makes her more suspicious.”

“Why?  Because she’s an introvert?  So is Donny.”

“No, Idiot.  Because there’s more ta her story than she’s tellin’.  Ya must’ve noticed.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.  But no one likes being pressured.  You of all people should sympathize with that, Raphy Boy.  I—I just want her to approach me when she’s ready.  I want…”

“Her trust,” Don finished with a faint grin.  He locked eyes with Mikey, who smiled in return.

“Fat chance,” add Raph, scoffing.  “Does it seem like Anders wants mutants as friends?  Watch, Mike.  When she’s outta trouble, she’ll return ta normality.  What will ya do then, when she wants nothin’ more ta do wit’ us?”

Mikey’s jaw hung slack until he found the courage to steel himself, crying, “You’re wrong!  Nia’s my friend, and I know she’ll stay so even after we handle the situation.”

The hothead snorted, yet made no further comment—much to Don’s relief.  The genius turned to Leo then, whose attention focused on Splinter.

“Donny, do you know what’s wrong with him?” the Jonin questioned.

A groan left Don as he cracked his neck.  “Hard to say.  My preliminary scan showed no injuries.  No lacerations, no burns, no broken bones.  It’s almost like he’s hurting on a…molecular scale.”

“Then fix it,” Leo snapped.

“I’m trying!”  Standing from his seat, Donny approached his eldest brother, offering a grim smile and comforting hand.  “He’s our father too, Leo.  But is it right to blame Nia when we don’t know her side?”

The Jonin answered with silence, although the glint in his umber eyes convinced Don the matter wouldn’t be settled peaceably.

“Mike, can you get Nia?”  Don asked.  Mikey left the Lair with a sound or hesitation.  As soon as his footfalls faded, Raph spoke up.

“That idiot’s livin’ in a dream world.  Anders ain’t as ignorant as she claims.  She keeps us distanced then this shit happens?”

 “I agree,” said Don softly.  “Like Mikey mentioned, though, prodding will only discourage her.  We should find a way to get answers without being overbearing.”

“Hate ta rain on the parade, but Anders ain’t got that luxury.  Whatever secret she’s got, it could help us find answers about Bishop or that German.  If that’s true, I swear…”

Don sighed at Raph’s growl.  “Everyone has reasons for secrets.  Nia must too.”

“Guys!”  Michelangelo’s voice rang through the Lair like a siren.  He stumbled into the Lab, short of breath, and his panicked eyes roamed the group.

“What is it, Mikey?” Don asked.

“It’s Nia,” Mikey answered.  “I’ve looked all over the Lair.  She’s gone.”

### ━❖━

“Detective Reese.  Shift end.  Now.”

Hugh Reese’s head jerked up—not because a stern voice addressed him, but because he’d almost fallen asleep.  Again.  He blinked, looking up at his boss.  Simply put, Inspector Wendell Erb was a heavy-set Caucasian who could procure any senior citizen discount.  And seeing him with crossed arms was common for his underling.

“I can’t leave,” Hugh said.  He peeled a piece of damp paper off his unshaven face.  “It’s only, uh, nine.”

“At night.”

“Well, you know what they say about the early bird.”

“What about the bird that never flies home?”

Hugh chuckled, although fatigue slurred the action.  “I got important work, Inspector.”

“We all do.”  Wendell shook his balding head.  “Go home to your wife, Reese.”

“I will.  I will.  Just let me make one call first.”  Hugh reached for the cordless phone on his desk, only to be thwarted when the Inspector plucked it from his hands.

“No,” the older man said.  “Go home.”

“Stop it, Wendell!”

The name escaped Hugh’s lips as quick as he regretted it.  Wendell’s fleshy face gained additional wrinkles as the tips of his ears reddened and his grip shook the phone.  Had his superior not been a man of rules, Hugh knew without doubt said phone would’ve been imbedded in his skull.  Perhaps twice over.

Inhaling, Wendell calmed himself before speaking, although Hugh knew what he was about to say.  “Inside Precinct Nineteen and these uniforms, you address me as Inspector Erb.  I’m your friend.  That doesn’t mean I don’t require respect.”

“Sorry, Inspector.”  Hugh replied automatically; this hadn’t been his first or last offense.

“Why do this to yourself, Detective?  You find one thing that bothers you then you obsess over it.  It’s a sickness, really.  You should find help.”

“Now who’s being informal?”

The white man shot Hugh a pointed stare.  “I out-rank you.”

“Indeed you do.”

“I’m being serious.  It was a fire.  Let it go.”

“How can I?  Don’t you think it’s weird the fire burned hot enough to turn five bodies to ash?”

“We found no evidence of arson.”

“But it still turned bodies to ash.”

“It was an accident.”

“And it had no source of origin.”

Wendell rolled his dark eyes.  “The case report is right there on your desk.  What does it say under ‘cause’?”

“Faulty wiring couldn’t have—“

“Enough, Detective Reese!”  The Inspector’s voice rose to a near deafening volume, which had Hugh flinching.  “The case is closed, so I won’t hear any more about it.  Understand?”

Hugh nodded—a difficult, slow action.

Wendell sighed again, this time with a tinge of pity.  “I know you want to believe it wasn’t an accident, that there was a reason.  Frankly, I don’t get it.  Accident or not, does that bring more value to her death?”

The detective found it hard to breathe, especially when the Inspector leaned over his desk.

“That unresolved feeling in your heart, in your head,” Wendell added.  “It’ll drive you crazy.  Just come to peace with it.  There isn’t anything you can do to change things or make amends.”

Beneath his desk, Hugh wrung his long hands in an attempt at self-control.  However, the lack thereof channeled through his voice when he regarded his superior.

“There is something I can do,” he said.  “If anything, I can make sure her daughter will be okay.”

### ━❖━

‘ _He’s hurt.   It’s my fault.  And they’ll never forgive me_.’

These thoughts haunted Nia on repeat.  They ran her out of the Lair.  They haunted her, even as she scrambled around the sewer for the first ladder possible.  Now, in a secluded corner of a subway railcar, she could do little to ease her migraine and those words.

She had no idea where her destination would be.  The only certain thing she knew was that she’d botched her opportunity at refuge.  Perhaps she could’ve pleaded her case.  But to do so would’ve required the unlikely mercy of two protective brothers.  And answers to questions that she’d lost hope of answering.

‘ _I—I can’t believe it happened again…so soon.  This stupid…thing.  Back there…_ ’

_“Otōsan!” Leonardo cried.  The mutant turtle took care in turning Splinter over, but the old master remained deathly still._

That’d been the last straw.

_Eyes narrowed and teeth clenched, Leonardo directed towards Nia in the most hateful voice she’d ever heard.  “What the hell have you done?”_

‘ _That look on Mister Leonardo’s face.  I thought he’d kill me.  I’ve never seen such…distress.  Idiot, Nia.  Why’d you ignore the signs?  I knew I should’ve left before my migraines reached this point.  Gah!_ ’

Cringing from nausea, Nia tucked her head between her knees and bit her lip to help silence her sobs.  “I’m sorry, Mister Leonardo,” she whispered.  “Mister Splinter.  Mikey.  I’m so sorry…”

### ━❖━

The subway doors hissed as they welcomed their latest arrivals.  Three men crossed the rubber threshold, their stances superior.  They sent the other passengers a cursory glance, like they could matter less.  But as soon as the commuters noticed the men’s Purple Dragon emblems, they either clamored away or switched railcars.

Such reactions would cause any gang member to smirk.  Not these ones.  They scowled, finding seats as the train’s automated voice announced the closing doors and the next stop.

One figure leaned back with an ankle resting atop his knee.  “That dashes yet another lead,” he said, his Mexican accent as subtle as his tan. “Esto es mierda.  How the hell are we gunna find this chica?  Hun practically described one third of New York’s bitches.”

“Well, h—her eyes seem unique enough,” a green-haired teenager answered.  Anxiety shook his voice and his eyes darted over passengers like a paranoid Schizophrenic.  He sat opposite of the Mexican, mindful of the scarf wrapped twice about his neck.

The Mexican scoffed when the teen began drawing circles through the dirt on railcar’s floor.  “That don’t mean jack squat, Scales.  Teal just means her eyes a little too green or blue.”

“Rojo’s right; it could take weeks to track her down,” the third and final gangster added.

The shaved African-American landed in the seat beside Rojo before removing his leather jacket.  It unveiled a muscle shirt, the remainder of a Purple Dragon tattoo inked down his bicep, and he used his elbows to support his weight on his thighs.

“Uh.”  Scales glanced up, wavy hair obscuring his vision.  “B—but, B—Bones—“

“Why’s this our problem anyway?”  Rojo snorted then rubbed his chin-stripe goatee.  "Hun made the deal.  He should find her.  The bastard even had the cajones to tell us we couldn’t have fun.”

Bones grimaced, his lips pursed.  “Fun?  That’s your preference, Rojo, not mine.  I’m content doing things Hun’s way.”

“If not for the fun, why’d you become a Purple Dragon?”

“For profit and thrill,” answered Bones dryly.  “You know the reason.”

Rojo smirked.  “Daddy’s boy.”

“Whatever.  Do you really want to rebel?  Don’t forget Skunk.  Personally, I don’t want to see the bottom of the Hudson that closely.”  Bones shuddered at the memory of their former comrade.

“Rebel?  Hardly.  Hell, if I went that far, I’d just overthrow the entire Dragon Empire.”

“So why don’t you?”

“Too much responsibility.”  Rojo waved his hand, dismissive.  “Second in command wouldn’t be bad, though.  Perks, not too much trouble.”

“What about Dragonface?”

The laugh Rojo released startled passengers.  “Dragonface is all bark and no bite.  He’d cave.”

“You shouldn’t be so cocky,” Scales muttered.  He pushed a hand out from inside his hoodie to scratch a peeling rash along his jaw line.

Rojo twisted his head so he faced the teen.  “Wanna repeat that again, Baboso?”

Scales flinched at the punch heading his way, but the Mexican’s fist fell short.  The railcar lights sizzled then flickered, and not long after the train vibrated with a groan and series of minor tremors. 

Screech!  The train decreased its speed until it came to a complete stop.  Several passengers were tossed from their seats, the gangsters included.  But the pause lasted only a few seconds before the train began moving again—proper and smooth, like it’d never been ill at all.

“What was that?” Bones asked.

“N—not sure,” Scales answered.  He pushed himself back into his seat.  “A power surge?  What do you think, Rojo?  Rojo?”

Rojo held up a hand for silence.  He watched a corner of the railcar with an attentiveness matched only by that of a predator stalking its pray.  Then, a smirk spread across his lips.

He stood up in unison with another figure as the next station was called and kept his vision glued to that figure when he spoke.  “I believe I’ve found us another lead, Cabrón.  A cute little mouse.”


	14. Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's draw out that death a little longer, eh, R_Unworldly? LOL
> 
> isssa, sorry you aren't 'feeling' Nia, but thanks for reading anyway!

 

* * *

**C** asey dared do what any sane person would veto:  he looked at the motorcycle’s side-view mirror.  Its glass vibrated, disjointing April’s reflection, but Casey needn’t see the driver’s face to understand her distress.  Her body tensed against his, and the man wished he could ease her worries.

On the other hand, he also desired his motorcycle’s safety.

“Was this detour necessary?” he yelled through their helmets’ Bluetooth connection.  “We could’a made good time on the highway!”

“Too many cops,” April said, flat.

“There’re oddah roads.”  Casey cringed when the bike hit a deep rut.  “Avoidin’ cops don’t mean ya gotta plow through the damn forest.”

“Shut up, Casey!”  The bike’s throttled revved.  “You’re ruining my concentration.”

“I wouldn’t be ruinin’ anything if ya rode where ya’re supposed ta.”

April snorted inside her helmet.  “Thought you were all about risk, Jones.”  Her voice was more mocking than joking, yet also strained.

‘ _She’s too emotional._ ’  Casey thought.  ‘ _I knew I should’a taken away the keys before we left the Farmhouse.  Too late now, I guess.  But my bike can’t handle this._ ’

“What will ya do if we get a flat, huh?” the man asked.  “Look around, Babe.  I’m good, but I can’t make a new tire out ‘a twigs ‘n mud.”  Beneath his encircled arms, Casey felt April stiffen further. 

She turned, asking, “You don’t carry a spare?”

“Hey, eyes on the road—the trail!  An’ no.  Spares take up too much room.  I only take one if I plan a long trip.”

The woman trembled with a scoff as she turned her attention forward again.  “Typical Casey, not thinking ahead.”

She grumbled something while weaving between several bushes that the bicycle trail would’ve rounded.  Between the crackling signal and blood pulsing in his ears, Casey couldn’t hear her words.

“April, listen,” he said.  “I know ya wanna get ta New York pronto, but that won’t happen if ya drive us off a fuckin’ cliff!”

“I won’t—“

“Ya’ve lost traction five times already!  An’ don’t deny it ‘cuz I know the feelin’ ‘a my own damn bike!”  Casey had exercised sensitivity ever since their phone call with Donatello.  No longer.  “It rained recently, it’s pitch black, an’ ya’re goin’ sixty-five down a mountain trail!”  Casey tightened his grip around his girlfriend, a gesture he could only pray came as a comfort.    “Come on.  Ain’t ya supposed ta be the rational one?”

April eased, leaving her more pliable in her boyfriend’s embrace.  “I know,” she said, almost too soft for the Bluetooth connection to pick up.  “It’s just, Splinter and Nia—I don’t…None of this makes sense.”

At her sigh, Casey clanked his helmet against hers.  “It’ll be a’right.  The guys got it handled.  They always do.  Now, can we please find a real road?”

### ━❖━

Donatello’s fingers clanked against his desktop keyboard.  On a wide computer monitor set at eye-level, he scanned a 3-D map of New York City.

‘ _I wish Leo hadn’t made me stay,_ ’ he thought _._   _‘It’s feels wrong.  Though I guess this is best.  Casey makes up for my position.  Besides, Leo was right: Splinter shouldn’t be left alone.  At least April and I can rotate shifts…’_

“Raph, were there any trails out east?” Don asked over his headset.

“No,” Raphael answered, voice heated.  “Not one.  Casey?”

Casey sighed over the phone—a self-explanatory action.

“Alright, Leo?” added Don.  “How about north?”

“Nothing yet, Don,” Leonardo answered.

“Okay.  Mikey?  Find anything?”

“No.”  Michelangelo sounded rushed and breathless.  “I’ve been from Washington Square to Chinatown.  There’s nada.  Guys”—the youngest brother panted—“we only have a few more hours before sunrise.”

 “Relax, Mikey.  Panicking won’t help.”

“I know, Leo.  But…we can’t let those men find her.”

The Jonin hesitated before replying.  “We won’t.  Don, where should we head next?”

A few keystrokes later, Don highlighted the blocks that’d been searched in red.  The coverage was notable and the dots that represented his family’s positions blinked too far away from one another.

“Okay"—Don inhaled—“you’ve already been through Ninety-Second and Lexington.  Raph, tracking shows you’re on the corner of Eighty-Eighth and Park Avenue.”

“What of it?”

“Nia’s old apartment is three blocks from there, on Eighty-Fifth and Madison.”

“Think she went back, even though the place is gutted?”

“It wouldn’t hurt to check.  Residents have been evacuated since the building is scheduled for renovation.  It may be closed off, but Nia might return because of that.  She’s still mourning her parents.  Maybe she thinks she can find comfort in the place where they died.”

Raphael scoffed, crackling the phone line.  “There ain’t any comfort wit’ the dead.  Just nightmares.”

“Raph?”

“I’ll check it out.”

“Wait, Raph,” Leo interjected, “you shouldn’t go alone.”

Raph growled.  “I can take care ‘a myself, oh Fearless Leader.  If ya wanna join me, I’ll be at the apartment.”  Raph’s line went dead before Leo could respond, which elicited a curse from the leader.

“I’m going after him.”  With that said, Leo’s line went dead as well.

“Alrighty.”  Don pursed his lips.  “Well, call me in another half hour unless something changes.”

“Rodger, Don.”  There went Mikey.

“Gotcha.”  There went Casey.

Now, the tech genius was left to his own devices.  He sighed, eyes roaming the red and green map.  “ _Where are you?_ ”

### ━❖━

Cold air nipped at Nia’s exposed skin as she dashed from the subway station.  Eyes wide and breath ragged, she never once apologized to the irritated bystanders she bulldozed through.  She just ran until her burning body collapsed in an alley far from the main road.

‘ _What’s going on?_ ’ she thought, sucking in shaky breaths.  ‘ _On the train, was that really…?  It felt like before, but…I—it can’t be.  It was too much energy.  It must’ve been a malfunction, a coincidence.  Things like that aren’t possible._ ’

Then again, not a week ago, the thought of mutants existing never would’ve crossed her mind.  Now, she lives with five.  Or used to.  Who was she to deem what was possible or not?

“This is too much.”  Nia groaned.  “What’s happening to me?”

“Well, she certainly looks like the chica Hun described.  But I can’t tell from this distance—what with the poor lighting and all.  Why don’t we get a closer look, eh, Cabrón?”

A pit formed in Nia’s stomach when a Mexican voice caught her attention.  She raised her head towards a trio blocking the alley entrance.  They neared in calm strides, and the young woman scrambled for safety.  Her trembling legs buckled multiple times as the brown-skinned figure in the middle whooped.

“Qué pasa?” he asked, his long nose scrunched.  “You’re fast for a chica with such a fat ass.”

Nia scooted backwards along the alley floor until her back met a trashcan.  “Wh—who are you?”

“That’s information for later.  For now, we’ll be asking questions.”

A man stepped out from behind the Mexican, his ebony features stoic yet almost regretful.  “Is your name Nia Anders?”

“H—how do you…?”  Nia swallowed thickly.  “Who are you?”

The Mexican chuckled.  “I take that as a yes.”  Now at Nia’s side, he kneeled, grinning as she knocked over the trashcan in a vain attempt to avoid him.  “We have business with you.”

Before Nia could protest, the man pulled her off the ground with harsh hands.  She winced at the ache in her bicep, gasping, and by the time she found proper footing again, she had been dragged across the barren street.  From screaming to crying to knocking over trashcans, Nia made as much noise as possible through back alley after back alley.  Yet no one seemed to hear her, let alone act.  She was on her own and could do little more than revert to old habits.

“Grevy's Zebra.  Daisy.  Self Portrait with Camouflage.  Dollar Sign.  Moon Explorer Robot.   Hamburger.  Campbell's Soup.  El—”

“Will you shut up?” Mexican man snarled at Nia.  “Maldita, what are you babbling about anyway?”

Nia’s breath hitched under the glare she received.  Her lip quivered and she stomped her sneaker against her kidnapper’s foot.  To her dismay, his grip grew stronger.

“Steal toe boots,” he said.  “Perhaps if you were a full-grown man you could’a pinched me.  Not with that pitiful strength.  If you want, I can carry you instead.”

“No!  I—“  Nia blinked her watery eyes.  “P—please, let me go.”

“If I had a quarter for every time I’ve heard that—”

“Stop dicking around, Rojo,” the dark-skin man spat.  “Our job is to deliver her to HQ.  Then Hun can finish the deal.  The sooner we do that, the better.”

“Why do ya always have such a stick up your ass, Bones?”

“I don’t.  Just knock her out; she’ll be less trouble.“

“And less fun.”

“We aren’t doing this for fun.”

“Right, I forgot.  We’re doing this for some pendejo named ‘Der Grobmann’.”  He scoffed.  “Seriously, what guy dishes out several grand to find a kid?”

“W—wait, someone paid you to kidnap me?”  Bones and Rojo faced Nia, who’d ceased struggling.  “Who’s Der Grobmann?  I—is he blonde?”

Bones sighed.  “That’s none of your business.”

“What are you talking about?  It is!  Th—th—that’s who you’re taking me to, right?”

“Y—yes, once we clear you th—through Hun.”

“Scales,” Rojo shoved a scraggly-haired teen, “don’t answer, Baboso!”

“So—sorry,” Scales cried, flinching.

“And you.”  The Mexican returned his attention to Nia.  “I told you we’d be the ones asking questions.  Now move your fat ass.”

“But—but—“

“Now!”

“Please, I need to know why!“

“For the last time—gah!”

Rojo’s sentence was cut short by an unseen force.  It loosened the grip around Nia’s arm and she fumbled for the cause.  Nothing.  The alley was empty, until a blur dashed by her peripheral vision.  Nia whipped around too quickly for her neck to handle, but the adrenalin pumping through her veins masked the pain. 

‘ _Could it be?_ ’

 “Pero qué mierda!”  Breath regained, Rojo stood taller than before.  “I dare you to hit me like that again!”

“Maybe your offer would be more tempting if you were a real challenge.”  The new voice seeped from every crevice in the alley, chilling and deep.  One thing was certain: it didn’t belong to any of the Hamato brothers like Nia had hoped.

Rojo growled.  “Leave the shadows and fight like a man!”

“We don’t have time for this,” Bones added, groaning.

The voice scoffed, but said no more.

The next attack descended swifter than a hunting falcon.  It laid the kidnappers flat on their backs, breathless against the alley floor.  A shadowed figure stood over them with a trash can lid in one hand, and without pausing, hit each man across the face until they no longer moved.

“Worthless Dragons,” the figure hissed.  It paused then regarded Nia.  “You okay?”

Words froze in Nia’s throat as she shied away.

”Don’t be stupid,” the figure spat.  The aluminum lid clanked against the paved ground.  “If I were going to hurt you, why would I stop these idiots?”  It jabbed a thumb over its shoulder towards the knocked out trio.

Logical.  Still, Nia couldn’t allow itself to be blinded by gratitude.  She searched the figure for additional weapons, but only uncovered that her rescuer was a voluptuous woman dressed in tattered clothes.  Strange.  Nia had thought for sure a male teen spoke to her.

“W—who are you?” Nia whispered.

“Nobody,” her savior answered, bland.  “Now hurry up before—“

“T—the girl must meet Hun!” Scales cried.  “I—I can’t let you leave!”

The woman scoffed, twisting.  She kept composed under Scales’ wild expression, despite what he griped in his unsteady hands.

“H—h—he has a gun?” Nia squeaked.  Her gaze locked on the handgun Scales aimed at them.  “He’s not—he wouldn’t…”

“He would.  He’s a Purple Dragon.”  Pausing, the savior shook her head as if realizing something.  “You’ve never met a PD before, have you?”

Bang!  A boom pierced the night—a stomach-churning sound.  There was a scream, a gasp, and tears fell from Nia’s eyes as an acidic pain tore through her.


	15. Alert

 

* * *

 **I** t took a sharp nip at her thumb before April realized she’d bitten down her fingernails to stubs.  They looked ugly, but she couldn’t stop—not when worries flooded her mind.

How were the guys faring?  Would they be alright searching separately?  Where had Nia gone?  Was she safe?  Would the boys find her in time?  If so, would they all return in one piece?  When would Splinter wake up?  Would he wake up?

And above all: what really happened in the Dojo?

‘ _Splinter has no wounds and yet…looks so pained.  Elevated heart-rate, muscle spasms, it looks a lot like a seizure.  But it isn’t…_ ’

“What?  Gun fire?”

April had been straining to hear updates from Donatello outside the Lab, so when he yelled, she abandoned her position beside Splinter and Klunk.  She approached the genius’ work station, where his fingers furiously danced across his keyboard.

“Matte, Mikey,” the genius said.  “I’ll call Casey.”  

April could tell Donny fought for composure.  But no amount of control could hide the panic in his voice.

“Baka ne, Mikey!  Think about this.  I know, but—Hello?  Mikey?  Ugh!”  Ripping off his headset, Donny slammed the equipment on his desktop.  He groaned then kicked the trashcan by his feet before sinking in his cracked, leather chair.  “Why don’t my brothers ever listen to me?” he grumbled.  “Idiots.”

‘ _He resorted to Japanese,_ ’ April thought, grim.  She pulled up a dining room chair beside her best friend.  ‘ _Something must be wrong._ ’

“Donny?” she asked.  “What’s going on?”

“Mikey heard gunfire,” Donny replied. “Somehow, he’s convinced it involves Nia.  Or maybe he wants to reassure himself it isn’t.  I don’t know.  Either way, he’s investigating.  Alone.”

“Alone?”  April frowned when the genius nodded.

“He thinks by the time Casey joins him, it’ll be too late.  The shooter will be gone and the victim, whoever it is, will most likely…”  Don sighed.  “While true, what’s the point of two victims?”

“I know how you feel, Donny.  But if you consider the likelihood, it’s probably just a routine mugging.  You guys have disarmed numerous thugs these last eight years.  And then some.”  Perhaps April said something wrong because the Chūnin’s eyes narrowed in an uncharacteristic manner that shocked his best friend.

“We have done a lot,” he hissed.  “Together.  We never patrol alone.”

April barely refrained from flinching.  “I—I’m sorry, I…”

“No, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean—“  Donny sighed then began fitting his headset back onto his skull.  “I’m just worried, you know?  First, Splinter.  Now maybe Mikey?  It—it’s like no matter how hard I fight it, everything from before comes rushing back an—and I just—just…Gah!”

Trembling fingers forced the genius to abort his task.  The headset slipped from his grip, and hit the desk with a sound that paled under Donny’s broken voice.

“I hate that they’re alone,” he whispered.  “If anything happens to Michelangelo again—”

Without hesitation, April rose from her seat and embraced the shaking mutant.  “I know, Donny.  I remember.”  She sniffled.  “But he’ll come back this time.  Okay?”

Don gave a somber nod.  Silence followed not long after, crushing the two under the weight of its uncertainty and minor hope.  April broke it by releasing her best friend and sitting back down.  After a weak smile, the mutant picked up his headset again.

“Hey, Don?”  April questioned.

“Yeah?” Donatello answered.

The redhead gathered a deep breath.  “While I have you to myself, I wanna talk about some…things.”

“Things?”  The purple-masked Chūnin resumed his work on the keyboard.  “What kind of things?”

“Things involving Nia and Gavin.”

“I thought our research led to a dead end.”

 “Mostly.”

“Then I don’t understand.  Nia’s most significant record is that she never graduated high school due to medical reasons.  And when you remote accessed Gavin’s computer, it released a worm whose payload destroyed all his private information, just disseminated it.”

“Well”—the redhead bit her lip—“maybe not everything.”

“What do you mean?”

April met her best friend’s wounded gaze.

“You lied?” asked Donny.

“Not technically.  I copied as much as I could before everything, you know, blew.  Because of the worm’s structure, I had to isolate the files to make sure they wouldn't corrupt any further.  I wasn't even sure the data was salvageable.”

The mutant huffed.

“Come on, Don.  You know this stuff take time.  Besides, I didn't want to raise any red flags with Nia before I talked with you.”

“Fine.  What’d you recover?”

“First, promise me you’ll keep this secret.  At least until we’re certain of what I’ve found.”

“Okay…I promise.  So what is it?”

The redhead leaned back into her chair, sighing.  “Throughout the years, I learned Gavin has a rich history with geneticists and human researchers.”

“That’s expected.  He was a Cytologist.”

“A capable one, who kept his ties limited.”

“And we’ve checked those ties.  Multiple times.”

“Yes, but my point isn’t them.  It’s that Gavin rarely shared.  I asked about his work for years before he answered.  Even then, the only thing he said was how much his research meant to him...which got me thinking.  Maybe that research has a connection to the German or Bishop, indirectly.”

“Plausible.  But any mention of Gavin in Erudio Laboratories’ database is minimal, like his career never existed.”

“What I found didn’t come from Erudio.  Remember?”  Don raised an eye ridge at April as she continued.  “Most of the content was student-related.  Grading.  Notes.  I did, however, find a file time-stamped six years ago, predating his termination.  Gavin called it ‘Iníon’.”

“Gaelic for ‘daughter’?”

“You know that right off the top of your head?”

Don shrugged, sheepish.

“Of course you do,” April grumbled.  “Who needs Google translators?”

“Actually, Google isn’t very—“

“Anyways, the file’s mostly fragments of encrypted data.  Took me a while to decode it.”

“But you did it.”

“Yes.”

“Does the data relate to Nia in anyway?” 

“Possibly.  Gavin’s notes on the project are obsessive, and the only time I saw that sort of emotion from him was when Nia came to the store.”

“Were the notes all you recovered?”

“No.  There was a file attachment.  A picture.”  Digging into her back pocket, the redhead produced a folded paper.  Her lips turned downward as Don took the parchment from her hands.  “This…may be a little alarming.”

It took a few moments for Donatello to decipher the text and graphs when he unfolded the paper.  But the moment he did, his eyes grew wide and his mouth slack.  April understood why.

### ━❖━

Michelangelo glared a parking lot from his perch on a factory building.  Below, four thugs formed a half circle around two women, corning them between a concrete wall and a diagonally-parked BMW.

“Come on, Sweetie.  We know who you are.”  One thug brandished a gun, like it somehow granted him power, and Mikey grimaced at the tattoo inked around the man’s arm.

‘ _Purple Dragons.  Figures._ ’

“Please.  I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the smaller woman said, voice cracking.  “Please.  Let us go.”

Thug One snarled.  “Say ‘please’ one more time.  I swear the next bullet will be in your damn leg!” 

At this, the small woman whimpered.  She buried her face into the chest of a husky woman with short-cropped hair.

“Listen, idiots,” the second woman said, “we’ve already told you.  We don’t know a Nia Anders.”

‘ _So, that’s not Nia.  Thank goodness.  But…why would Purple Dragons be looking for her at all?_ ’

“Don’t lie,” another thug said.  He stood no taller than Raph and had a hideous orange Mohawk-Mullet mix.  Joining his comrade, he frowned.  “The girl behind ya clearly has teal eyes and long, black hair.”

“So you’re color-blind and stupid.”

“Just hand her over.  Maybe we’ll let ya go then.”

“I’ll die before I let you pigs touch my sister!”

“Guess we’re doin’ things the hard way.  Dragonclaw?”

“With pleasure, Hunt.”  With a crazed grin, Dragonclaw aimed his handgun at the women.

Not one bullet hit its victim.  Michelangelo descended onto the gangsters like a pouncing lion.  After twisting the handgun from Dragonclaw’s grasp, Mikey elbowed him in the face then whipped out his nunchackus to deliver blows to the three upright members.  They doubled over, groaning, so the Chūnin used the opportunity to check on the damsels.

“You hurt?” he asked, stepping towards the BMW. 

The sisters tensed, their eyes wide with shock.

“No, no, don’t be scared,” he soothed.  “I’m a good guy.”

The husky woman shook her head.  “But—but you—you…yo—“yo—you’re—”

“Devastatingly handsome?  Thanks.  I get that a lot.”

“How?”

“Mother Nature blessed me, I guess.  But seriously, you gotta go.”  Mikey offered a three-finger hand, but the women shied from it.  “Please, go or else—“

 “They ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Just as Mikey turned, he found himself pinned against the asphalt with one arm twisted behind his carapace and another incapacitated under a man’s knee.  There was a glint out of his peripheral vision, and his stomach lurched as Hunt lifted a butterfly knife.

“No, please, stop!”  The small woman cried out in vain.

Hunt’s knife had already cut through Michelangelo’s side.

### ━❖━

“Shit.  I swear, if you hadn’t have stopped me—” 

“Please, Miss,” Nia said, “you need a hospital.  Yo—you could bleed out!”

“From this?”  The woman scoffed as the artist struggled with her rescuer’s weight.  “You watch too much TV.”

“But the bullet pierced your side!”

“And entered your tricep.  You’re lucky the bullet stuck close to the surface.  Your Brachial Artery could’ve been nicked.”

Sighing, Nia glanced at the tourniquet wrapped around her right arm, thoughts drifting to when Scales had fired.

The bullet had torn through the woman, lodged itself in Nia.  While the artist had been stunned, her rescuer had retaliated.  The woman beat Scales until Nia’s shock no longer hid the hot pain that spread from her arm.

‘ _Th—the woman cut the bullet out like it was…normal, like she sterilizes blades and sees blood on a daily biases.  Just who is she?_ ’

Nia faced her rescuer.  Under the drear light of street posts, she saw a shade of blue-gray that could’ve frozen water on the spot.  Of course, the woman’s matted hair and weathered skin did little to add to her civility either.

“Don’t worry about me,” the woman hissed.

“I—I—I don’t understand,” Nia whispered.

“Course not.”  The rescuer released the artist’s neck and despite her weak legs, looked capable.  “You can go.  I never asked for an escort.”

“But you’re—“

“Capable of dealing with my own problems.  Like you should be.”

“Th—that’s…”  Nia’s eyes lowered to the sidewalk.  “Sorry.”

The woman snorted.  “You say that like the damn mechanic.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing.  Look.  You were saved.  Be thankful.”

“I am.”

“Then tend your own wounds, leave me be.”  That said, the woman crossed the street then disappeared into the darkness.

### ━❖━

“Took yer sweet time, didn’t ya, Fearless?” Raphael asked.  He scowled when his older brother squeezed through a shattered, grand window.  “I’ve already swept the place.”

“Will you get out of there?” Leonardo hissed.

“I ain’t four.”

“But you also can’t fly.”  Leo’s eyes traveled the apartment’s collapsed walls and charred debris before settling on the support beams visible through jagged holes in the ground.

“It’s fine, Fearless”

“You can see the sixteenth floor.  That’s not fine.”

“Relax.  I figured out where we can walk.”

Leo sighed.  “Whatever.  Just get out.  Nia obviously isn’t around.”

“Don’t mean this trip was a waste.”  Raph bypassed the floor’s traps to join his brother on the brick opening.

“What do you mean?” questioned Leo, low.

“I found something beneath a bookcase.”

“So?”

“Look at it.”  Reaching into his elbow pad, the red-masked Chūnin pulled out a warped photograph.

Leo’s eye ridges knit together as he accepted the photo from his brother.  His eyes narrowed not at the focal group of the picture, but at something in the upper left corner. 

The Jonin’s frown deepened.  “Is that?”

“Yeah,” Raph answered.  “A link.”


	16. Coincidence

 

* * *

 **A**  sigh escaped Casey when he dismounted his parked motorcycle.  It required all his energy to enter a partially-lit alley on Eighty-Sixth Street, where he’d been instructed to join Leonardo and Raphael.  According to a text, the Hamatos had found something in the Anders’ old apartment that would surprise everyone.  Casey had no idea what that meant, but he got the feeling he’d be pissed by the meeting’s end.

“Where is that lame brain?  He said he was on his way.”

“I’m right here, Raph,” Casey said.  “Quit yammerin’.”  The man glanced towards the mutant hidden amongst dense shadows then leaned against a brick building.

“Took ya long enough,” Raph spat.  “What’d ya do?  Stop for coffee?”

Casey’s eyes settled on his best friend’s vague silhouette.  “Oh, I’m sorry.  I must’a forgotten my magic Speedster costume at home.  I wasn’t the only one drivin’ the west side!”

“Stop, guys.”  Leonardo intervened just as Casey pushed off the building.

The man sensed Leo pull Raph further into the darkness.  He knew the Jonin did so to prevent the argument from escalating rather than prevent his brother from stepping into the light.

“Whatever,” Casey grumbled, returning to his spot.  “Now tell me what’s so important that it couldn’t wait ‘til we found Nia.”

“Why wait when we finally got a clue ta discuss?” Raph asked.

“Anders is still a priority,“ added Leo rigidly.  “But Raph wanted to share this before she…returns.  We sent a group message.  When you didn’t show in the first fifteen minutes, though, we texted the clue to Don’s Shell Cell.  Privately.”

“What kind’a clue is it?” Casey questioned.

“Photographic proof,” Raph answered.  The hothead outstretched a hand from the shadows into the light streaming down from a second-story window.

Casey left the wall for a better view of the photo his best friend held up.  Despite its charred edges, warped surface, and a hole in the lower corner, he could imagine what the print looked like in its prime.  The setting was a generic research lab—complete with monochrome walls, drop-down ceiling, bubbling beakers, steel tables, and large cables that resembled supped up extension cords.  At the focal point were two contrasting men, a woman, and a pre-teen Nia, who stood before them all like a zombie.

“Where’d ya get this?” asked Casey, attention set on Nia’s dim eyes.

“The apartment,” Raph replied with a scoff.  “A waterline burst, I guess.  When the ceiling crumbled, it let the water flow.  It must ‘a soaked the bookcase this was under, kept it from catchin’ fire.  Notice anythin’?”

Casey was about to shake his head when his phone vibrate in his jean pocket.  He reached behind him to retrieve it, noting that Leo and Raph did likewise with their cells.

“So,” Casey started, reading Don’s text, “the short, Caucasian is Doctor Marx and the Hispanic woman is Doctor Jensen.”

“Seems Don knows them from some science magazines,” Leo said.  “They worked for a company before it went bankrupt.  The redhead—“

“Is Gavin, Nia’s father,” interrupted Casey, brows furrowed.  “I still don’t get how this is a clue.  Nia’s in a lab, yeah.  But since we know Gavin’s a past psycho—cona—sin…scientist, it ain’t a surprise.”

Raph growled and stepped out of the shadows.  “Is everyone blind?”  He texted a reply then held the photo up again.  “Look!”  He aimed a thick finger near a blackened corner on the left.  “How could ya miss him?”

 Snatching the picture away, Casey studied where Raph pointed.  It was difficult to note at first, but soon the distant figure became recognizable.  “Is that Baxter Stockman?”

Raph threw up a hand.  “Hallelujah!  He’s got it.”

Their phones vibrated again, and the trio spared no time in reading Donatello’s reply.

_Don’t get snippy because the photo is hard to see!  That aside, this was taken years ago.  Look at Nia.  She can’t be any older than ten.  April and I agree, it’s a stretch.  Yes, Stockman was an EPF lackey.  He still might be.  But he and Gavin didn’t even study in the same scientific field.  Why would they have crossed paths, let alone shared information?_

“Perhaps Don’s right,” Leo said.  “But this is our first lead in a week.  We can’t assume it’s coincidence.  Whatever the case, Nia must explain it.”

Raph snorted.  “Good luck.”

“Ya ain’t helpin’, Raph,” Casey told his friend.  “Ya know, from what I’ve seen tonight, I don’t blame Nia for runnin’.”

“If the chick were stronger, she could handle the situation.  It’s got nothin’ ta do wit’ us.”

“Doubt it.  Somethin’ tells me ya two scare the shit out ‘a that girl.  Mike must be the only one she feels comfortable around.  Is that why he ain’t included in this little family meetin’?”

“Mikey—”  Raphael stopped himself in mid-yell.  “Wait.  We left that Knucklehead a message over twenty minutes ago.  He should ’a answered by now.”

“Ya did?” asked Casey.  “Well, where the hell could he be?”

**━❖━**

Voices jumbled Michelangelo’s brain as he awoke.  He felt weighted by sore muscles and wanted nothing more than for sleep to overcome him again.  But who could sleep with these arguing women around?

“I can’t believe you talked me into this.”  One voice oozed displeasure.  It sounded gruff, yet still feminine.

“What do you mean?”  The second voice must’ve been a teenage; her voice held an undertone of childish whining.  “We couldn’t just leave him.”

“Yes, we could’ve.”

“You may’ve stopped that Mohak guy, but those thugs would’ve woken up eventually.”

“Listen, Miriam.  He can’t stay.”

“He saved our lives.”

“He’s a turtle—thing—for God’s sake!”

‘ _Please be quiet._ ’  Mikey fought for words that wouldn’t come.  ‘ _Why is it so hard to talk?_ ’

“Jez, look!”

The orange-masked Chūnin jerked aside when a hand grazed his arm.

“Whoa, it’s okay,” the younger voice said.  “You’re…safe.”

Michelangelo managed to open his eyes after several attempts.  Beside him was a brunette.  She remained rigid as vision returned, almost unsure of her actions.  But then she winked—a perfect match in behavior to the mischief that lit her green eyes and quirked her lips.

“I’m Miriam Summers,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder.  “How are you feeling?”

 Michelangelo froze as a pit settled in his stomach.  ‘ _Summers?_ ’ he thought.  ‘ _No.  Get a grip, Mikey.  Summers i—is a popular enough surname.  That would be too coincidental.  Just…let it go._ ’

Inhaling, Mikey tried sitting up.  The task would’ve been easier had a searing pain not coursed through his left side.

“Take it easy!  You were stabbed.”  Miriam’s eyes roamed the mutant’s body before stopping at his face.

“Stabbed?” Mikey asked with a hiss.

Miriam nodded.  “Don’t you remember?  Last night you—you saved me and my sister from being shot.  Or worse.”

It took a few moments before Mikey remembered.

‘ _That’s right.  I came across some Purple Dragons.  They had…guns?  No, only one had a gun, the psycho one.  Or, more psycho one.  They were trying to take the youngest.  Why?  Because she looks like Nia.  Does she?_ ’

The Chūnin searched for the brunette, who walked over with a glass in hand.  She smiled as she offered it—a polite yet skittish gesture.

‘ _Very much like Nia_.  _Save for the olive skin_.’

“Here,” Miriam said.  “You must be parched.”

Mikey grasped the cup with an unsteady hand, and while drinking, studied his surroundings.  High rise ceilings rested atop muted yellow walls.  They dissuaded any sense of claustrophobia that would’ve otherwise accompanied the cramped living space.  Towards the left, a dining table sat below a pendulum light.  A kitchen lay behind that.  The room’s right side held nothing more than an end table by Mikey’s feet, a floor lamp, and a large mirror with a crack running through it.

‘ _Nice place, but where’re the exits?  Aren’t there any windows?  Or doors?_ ’

“Miriam.”

Miriam tore her attention away from Mikey and directed it towards the end of the couch.  Biting through the burn in his side, Mikey sat upright on the couch.  He glanced over Miriam to a short-haired woman by a tall window.  She glared with eyes that matched Miriam’s in color, but lacked the latter’s curiosity.

“Get his things,” she said.

“But, Jezabel—“                                        

“It’s too risky if he stays.  For all of us.”  Jezebel sent her sister a pointed look that Leonardo would’ve commended.  No more than three seconds later, Miriam sighed then disappeared from the living room.

“Where am I?”  Mikey asked.

Jezebel scoffed.  “Out of that alley.”

“Sounds like an answer my brother would give.”

“Th—there’s…more of you?”

“There’re enough of us.”  Mikey grinned at the human’s slacked jaw.  “I can play that game too.”

Jezebel huffed, running a few fingers through her spiked bangs.  “Fair enough.”

“Can you at least tell me what time it is?”

“Between four and five in the morning?”

Mikey’s eyes rounded.  “What?”

 “I’ve got his stuff, Sis.  But does he really gotta go?”  Miriam returned with Mikey’s missing accessories as well as down-pulled lips.

Shaking away his shock, Mikey offered Miriam a weak smile.  “I’m sorry.  I appreciate the kindness, but I should get home.”

A chuckle sounded—a near-mocking sound.  “Don’t let her innocent face fool you, Turtle,” Jezebel said.  She neared Miriam to poke her sister’s forehead.  “This girl is a wolf in sheep’s clothing.  She’s only interested in your secrets.”

“Am not!” Miriam cried, pouting.

“That’s the type of person she is.  Better run while you can.”

Mikey couldn’t tell whether or not Jezebel was serious.  While he prided himself on reading people, something behind her piercing eyes and ambiguous smile made him uneasy.

“Listen,” the mutant started, “I’m sure I have several strongly-worded voicemails to reply to.”  He straightened with a cringe then reached for Miriam.  “Hand me my Shell Cell, please.”

The younger brunette looked at her arms then the mutant.  “Uh…”

“Just bring it all over, okay?”

**━❖━**

Nia had been in such a hurry to leave the Lair that she’d forgotten a jacket.  Now, she braved New York’s bitter night in a pullover and ripped jeans.  Sure, she also wore yellow tights, a gift from April.  Unfortunately, those were for show and security, not insulation.

‘ _I’m hungry and tired,_ ’ she thought, rubbing her numb hands.  ‘ _This has been the second worst night of my life…_ ’

Seriously.  She’d hurt a friend, been kidnapped, shot, and then saved all before sunrise.  Like some network drama.  So while running had been a welcomed idea at one point, it seemed silly when she reflected on it.  And stupid.  If those Purple Dragon hinted at was in store for her if caught by Der Grobmann, Nia would rather not face him.  Ever.

She needed a new plan; a better plan.  One that didn’t involve dying from exposure.  She knew where she should go.  But could she return after causing so much trouble?  Not like she had much choice.

“April and Mikey are going to have my head,” Nia said through chattering teeth.  “At least they’d feed me afterwards.  I hope…”

“Careful, Dudes!  That stings!”

A cry drew Nia’s attention to a narrow balcony.  Somehow she’d wandered into another alleyway, this one consisting of expensive apartments on both sides.  Yellow light filtered through the glass back door of an apartment on the second level.  Since it was on a corner lit by a lamp post, Nia could make out a few figures from her vantage point, as well as a familiar voice.  Though certain of her hunch, she held her tongue until the group could be seen.  When one figure hopped off the balcony edge, the apartment’s glow revealed muted green skin and a blue bandana tail.

‘ _Mister Leonardo._ ’

Nia wanted to call his name, but shame silenced her.  She waited to see what task busied him.  Donatello accompanied his eldest brother and helped him escort a limping figure out the back door, taking care in their movements.

Nia frowned then.  She knew who was injured.

“Nia?  Hey, guys, I think that’s Nia!”

Michelangelo had just finished his statement when Leonardo landed before Nia.  The young woman gave a startled cry, jumping, as the mutant straightened to his full height—a whole head taller than her. 

His eyes were emotionless, his muscles tense, and he spoke in a tone that left Nia queasy.  “You have explaining to do.”

One glance at Michelangelo on the balcony had Nia groaning.  “I know,” she whispered.  “I’m so sorry.”


	17. Answers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Casey's being a little mature at the chapter's start. It scared even me. xD

 

* * *

 **A** pril’s hand tightened around the coffee carafe’s handle, her attention drifting to Casey.  “Huh?” she questioned.

Casey set his elbows on the Lair’s dining table, frowning through his disheveled hair.  “I asked how everyone’s doin’,” he said.

“Oh.”  April continued to fill her mug with coffee then moved to a second mug.  “They’re…restless.  Donny passed out after examining Mikey and Nia.  Not sure if he’s up yet.  Raph’s squirreled away in the Dojo, and Leo…”

“He still ain’t talkin’?”

Sighing, April placed the carafe back on its warming plate then began adding sugar and milk to the mugs.  “I think he’s beyond pissed.  But he should be angry at me, not Nia.”

“This wasn’t yer fault, Red.”

“No?  I requested their help.  Now Splinter and Mikey are injured.”

Casey snorted.  “Nia too, remember?  Come on.  Ya saw the look on her face when we got back, right?”

April recalled it vividly, the shame that kept Nia’s eyes downcast, but wouldn’t mention it.

“Whatever happened wit’ Splinter must ’a been an accident,” continued Casey.  “As for Mike?  He got himself hurt.”

The redhead spun along the counter to meet her boyfriend’s impassive face.  “You blame Mikey for being stabbed?”

“Hey, the mook took on those goons alone.”

April tried maintaining her glare.  Instead, Casey’s blue eyes reminded her of Michelangelo’s plight.

‘ _Don said the knife slipped into a tender spot beneath Mikey’s marginal scutes rather than puncturing his bridge.  It was an awkward place, but thankfully no vital organs were damaged.  Just some blood loss, torn muscles, slight separation of his scute…_ ’

April grabbed the mugs from the countertop then slipped into a seat opposite her boyfriend.  “I know,” she said, soft.  “I’m just frustrated with everything.  Like those girls?  What if they _call_  someone?”

Casey’s expression never changed when he relieved April of one mug.  The redhead knew he shared her anxiety, only he fought to contain it.  Perhaps for her sake.

 “Hey,” Casey said.  By aid of his rough hand, April glanced up.  “Those girls could’ve turned Mikey in.  They didn’t.  They got no idea who he is, where he came from.  They don’t even know he’s a Phantom.  Right now, I’m more worried about Raph ‘n Leo.”

April jerked away from Casey’s calloused fingers.  “Me too.  I thought helping Nia would give them a positive push, not cripple them.”

“They’re broken people, April.”

Breath caught, the redhead watched her boyfriend sip his coffee.  He looked aside with stormy eyes, as if lost in his memories.

“I get what the guys are goin’ through,” he added in an undertone.  “Whether they think so or not.  I know what it’s like ta feel powerless ‘n guilty ‘n angry.  I also know what it’s like ta loose yer Pops.”

April’s hand fell on her sour stomach as Casey continued.

“Nia’s got that look in her eyes.  A—a—a  hollowness.  I remember seeing that same look in the mirror after Pops committed suicide.”

“Casey—“

“That’s why I defend her, ya know?  She needs pushed, but not in the way Raph ‘n Leo are goin’ about it.  Believe me, I heard enough comments last night ta know where I’ll stand if they bring up that photo.”

“What photo?”

“Ya’ll see.  Meanwhile just…stand by me.  Between us, Mike, ‘n Don, we can get though those thick skulls.”

“Says the third thick skull.”

Casey glowered.  “I’m serious.  Ya know what Leo’s like once he’s made up his mind.”

“He’s worse than you and Raph combined.”

“Damn straight.”

“Alright.  Alright.  But if they get hostile, I may make matters worse.”

“Could be a good thing.  Bluntness has always worked for me.  It worked for Nia.  Why not them?”

“I guess.”  April reclined in her wooden seat then sent her boyfriend a strained smile.  “So what now?  We can’t leave New York again.”

“Got somethin’ against my Granny’s farmhouse?”

“You know that isn’t it.  We can’t just leave the guys in this…state.”

“An’ I can’t convince ya otherwise.”

“Nope.”

 “In that case, guess we can stay at my place.”

The redhead blinked.  “Your…place?”

“Yeah.”  Casey answered so casually that April’s hands curled into fists.

“I thought you were evicted,” she spat.  “That’s why you’ve been loafing on my couch.”

“I got a new apartment a while ago.  New job pays well an’ my credit’s improvin’.”

“Then why stay with me?”

Casey had the audacity to smirk.  “How could I pass up that chance?  It’s nice livin’ wit’ a good cook.”

No sooner did Casey chuckle did April stand, topping her chair backwards.  “I can’t believe this, you jackass!” she screamed.  “We could’ve stayed in New York from the start!”

“Relax, woman!”  Casey flinched, ducking the spoon his girlfriend tossed his way.  “Whoa!  Seriously, my place is a rat hole.”

“Don’t make excuses!  Why drag me to Massachusetts if we could’ve stayed?”

“Because.”

“Casey, I swear—“

“I didn’t want ya in the city!  Alright?”  Casey’s icy eyes froze April with their fear.  “Ya’re a target,” he continued.  “Until we got more information, I wanted ya as far away from this shit as possible.  I—I just…”

“Was protecting me,” April concluded.

The man rubbed his facial stubble, whispering, “Yeah.”

“Casey.  Don’t worry.  I doubt the German will care about me if he thinks I’ve”—April licked her lips—“abandoned Nia.”

“If ya say so,” Casey grumbled.  “Meanwhile, when everything’s normal again, can I still sleep on yer couch if I promise a surprise?”

April sent her boyfriend a pointed stare.

“Come on, Red.  I’m sorry for lyin’.  Really!”

The redhead twitched.  Damn his puppy dog face.  How’d he manage it with such a gruff exterior?  It should’ve been creepy, not effective.

“Okay, Casey,” April said.  “But until it’s safe, we’ll stay at your place.”

Casey groaned.

“We could always stay in the Lair instead.”

“It’s already crowded here.”

“Then it’s settled.”

“Fine”—a smirk crept across the man’s tanned features— “we’ll have ta share a bed, though.”

April mirrored his smirk.  “We’ll see.  Now.  Let’s go prevent Leo from committing murder.”

**━❖━**

Leonardo paced.  He’d yet to leave the Lab, yet to abandon Splinter, or rest, really.  But what else could be expected?  Between Bishop, Mikey, Splinter, and Nia, his mind raced with concerns.  And he couldn’t hide the tension in his muscles.

“Leo, will you cool it, Dude?” Michelangelo asked.  “You’re making me nauseous.”

Leo stopped mid-stride then faced his orange-masked brother.  Mikey sat in a chair modified to keep pressure off his wounded side, and Leo frowned at the white gauze wrapped around the youngest’s mid-section.  It was stained by a light red color.

“Don’t do that, Leo,” Mikey said.

“Do what?” questioned Leo.

“Blame Nia.”

“She’s the one who ran.”

“But she didn’t stab me.  A Purple Dragon did.”

“Had you not been searching for her, you wouldn’t have been in that situation.”  Leo crossed his arms, a dare for his brother to say otherwise.

“Are you listening to yourself?”  Disbelief cracked Mikey’s voice.  “If I hadn’t have been there, those girls would’ve been shot or raped.  I saved them and don’t regret my decision, even with this pain.  Had you been there, you would’ve done the same.”

True, but Leonardo wouldn’t admit that. 

“Nia made a horrible choice,” continued Mikey in a softer tone.  “We’re all guilty of doing dumb things, though.  Especially Raph.  Can’t you take that into account?  She’s just scared.”

“Everyone’s scared, Mikey.”  Glaring, Leo conquered the few steps necessary to stand before his brother.  “All Anders does is stick her head in the sand and hope her troubles go away.  She’s disillusioned.”

Mikey’s blue eyes narrowed, his voice growing gruff with a frustration that’d become commonplace within the latest month.  “Forcing her head out of the sand won’t help.  It’ll just make her hide further.  I agree she should conquer her fears—we _all_ should—but she has to want to conquer them first.”

“You think we have time for that?”  Leo’s glare intensified, though he attempted to rein it in when the Chūnin grimaced.

“What’s wrong with you?” whispered Mikey.  “Yo—you’re treating Nia like a—a goal.  But she isn’t, Leo.  She’s a person.  An orphan.”  Here, the younger mutant scoffed, as if to keep himself from crying.  “You and Raph are viewing this all wrong.  Even Casey has a better grasp.  Haven’t you thought we may be making another life-time friend?  That’s rare.”

“I know it’s rare, Mike.”

“So why the cold shoulder?”

Leo didn’t want to answer, so Mikey continued.

“Look, everything will be fine so long as Nia stays here.”

“Obviously, not everything.”  Leo’s eyes found the cot where Splinter rested before resettling on his brother.  “And April?  She’s not safe.  She can’t even return to her store.”

“Don keeps tabs on it.  I’m sure she can go back soon.  If needs be, she and Casey can stay here.  But I’m sure they’ve got things handled.  Really, Leo, you can’t just—“

 “Damn, we come at a bad time?”  A Brooklyn voice cut off the ninjas.

Leonardo broke eye contact with Michelangelo to focus on the group pouring into the Lab like a small army.  Casey (who’d spoken) traveled to a chair by Mikey’s side.  April took the seat beside him, and Donatello opted to lean against a steel table that housed a few projects.  Raphael could be spotted leaning against the room’s door jam.  This left one person unaccounted for.

Leo glanced at April.  The redhead nodded, seeming to have understood, and soon Nia leapt passed Raph like a drunken ballerina.  She staggered to the group’s center then sought refuge by Mikey, hands twirled into her pullover.

“So, the prodigal daughter returns.”  Raphael commented first.

“Stuff it, Raph.”  Apparently, the comment wasn’t Casey approved.

“What happened to her arm?” Leo asked.  He studied the bandage partially visible below Nia’s rolled up sleeve.

“She got shot,” Donatello answered.  “You didn’t notice the giant cloth around her arm last night?”

The Jonin shook his head.  “I was focused on Mikey.”

“Oh, Geez,” Mikey said with a snort.  “Nia told us the story last night.  In case you blocked that from your memory too, she had a run in with the Purple Dragons.  Like me.  Apparently, they were hired by some dude calling himself…What was the name, Nia?”

Nia kept her head down as she replied.  “Der Grobmann.”

“Der Grobmann?” Donatello parroted.  “As in The Slender Man?”

“German folklore,” April added as Mikey shivered.

“Evil, creepy, folklore,” he grumbled.

“Well, that handle can’t be coincidence,” continued April.  “Guess since the German scientist lost his lead, he hired Purple Dragons to be his eyes around the city.”

“How’d ya get away?” injected Raph.

Nia kept her chin tucked, but glanced towards the hothead with blood-shot eyes.

“Some chick saved her,” Mikey said.  “She didn’t give a name, but the way Nia described her, she sounds pretty badass.”

“Nia’s a big girl, Mike,” Raph spat.  “Let her answer.”

“Maybe she would if you didn’t look at her like that.”

“I haven’t done anythin’ ta her.”

“Including being nice.”

Raph folded his arms, eyeing the human who avoided his gaze.  “Let’s see.  Both ya ‘n Sensei have been nice.  Look where it landed ya.”

Nia sucked in a sharp breath and Leo sensed a negative spike in Michelangelo’s Chi.

 “Cut it out.”  April butted in before the youngest brother rose from his seat.  “We’re not here for this.  We just want answers.”

Silence followed the redhead’s sigh.  Leonardo glanced over the Lab several times to see who’d speak first, though the first to do so was the least likely of all.

“My sons, what has come about?”

Leonardo dashed to Splinter’s bedside, falling on his knees.  He caught the old rat’s outstretched paw and held it with care, frightened he would harm his father.

“Otōsan!” he cried.  “Daijobou desu ka?  Matte, don’t rise yet.”

The Jonin’s warning went unheeded.  Determination propped the master into a seated position, and he surveyed the Lab with dark eyes.  The scraping of wood against concrete sounded.  Then, the soft patter of footfalls.  When Leo turned, he saw Nia round Splinter’s side, opposite of him.  Her frazzled hair veiled her, although the mutant had already spotted her tears.

“I—I’m sorry,” Nia said, voice trembling.  “I’m sorry.  I’m so, so sorry, Mister Splinter.  I didn’t—I mean—I…I’m—“

“Child,” Splinter lifted Nia’s chin with a paw, “I sense you meant no harm.”

‘ _No harm?‘_ Leo’s fingers formed tight fists as Splinter held Nia’s hand.  ’ _How can Sensei dismiss what happened?  It’s not like he was slapped or tripped on the carpet.  She knocked him unconscious!  He’s writhing, even now.  After all that, how can he act like she’s no threat?_ ’

 “I’m glad you’re okay, Sensei,” Mikey added.  He shifted in his seat, cringing while he did so.  “Really.  But I gotta know.  What happened?”

Splinter’s gaze turned from Nia to his youngest son.  “I believe only Anders-san can provide an answer for that, Michelangelo.”

All eyes fell on Nia.  Leonardo watched as her grip on Splinter’s kimono tightened and she drew a deep breath before speaking.

“I—I—I can’t say,” she said softly.

Raphael pushed off the doorway, storming towards the human with contorted, dark green features.  “Can’t?  Or won’t?” he cried.

Nia recoiled into Splinter’s embrace—a sight which tightened Leo’s stomach.  “R—really,” she said, focus set on the master’s kakebuton.  “It—it’s unexplainable.  Even Daddy didn’t know what it was…”

Raph’s glare never faltered, despite the pain evident in Nia’s voice.  “Ya could try explainin’.  Why are ya here otherwise?”

“Raph.”  The red-masked Chūnin met April’s frown before she continued.  “Please, back off.”

A growl later, the hothead stood by Leo, amber eyes still narrowed.

“The best I can describe it is a…feeling,” Nia told him.

“What sort of feeling?” questioned Donatello.

“I—I don’t.  A yearning?  Or maybe an instinct.  A force?  Whatever it is, it just…flares up.”

“What do you mean by ‘flares up’?”  The genius’s tone adopted a scholar-like intrigue as Nia fidgeted.

 “Weird stuff happens,” she answered.  “Like shorting out phones, lights, TVs.  One time our block lost power.  Maybe…because of me.  I—I don’t know, but…it’s effected me all my life.  A—a—animals are, uh, particularly sensitive.”

“Is that why Klunk’s been upset?” Mikey mumbled.

Nia sighed.  “Th—there’ve been incidents like the one with Splinter.  Only two, though.”

“Hey, Nia?” asked Mikey, hesitant.  He gained the human’s attention then flashed a kind, almost sorrowful, smile.  “Is that what happened when I first met you?  Did you have a…episode?”

After a gulp, Nia nodded.  “I, uh, I was walking home from the library.  Daddy was grading papers, and Mama was at a, uh—uh, meeting.  I—I didn’t call them to pick me up.  I wanted to walk because…the night felt good.  At th—the complex they’re building near Lenox Hill, I saw someone being beaten by two kids I recognized from Daddy’s class.  They—they caught me and I—I…I panicked.”  Brows furrowed, Nia inhaled sharply.  “Everything after that is hazy.  I remember running through Central Park, tripping.  A lot.  One guy kept up.  He’s the one who, uh, who…”

“Ya hurt,” Raph finished.  His tone lacked the contemptuous from before, and Nia sighed as he shifted his weight.

“Yes,” she whispered.  “He grabbed me, and that _thing_ inside flared.  I was so…freaked.  I left him unconscious, bumped into a truck outside the park.  I fell down a manhole they were servicing, a—a—and couldn’t get out, although…I probably passed plenty of ladders.  Who knows how long I was down there when Mikey found me.”

“Nia.”  April sounded as soft as her expression.  “Why didn’t you tell us this sooner?”

“Because, Miss April, I…I want to forget it.”

“Forgettin’ don’t help anyone,” Raph said with a scoff.

Blue-green eyes found the hothead then just as quickly looked away.  “I’m tired,” Nia countered.  “Da—Daddy spent so many years trying to help, but this thing can’t be identified.  How can I face something that doesn’t even have a name?”

“So,” Don interjected, “your father tested you?”

Nia gave a weak nod.

“What for?  Blood work?  MRIs?  CATs?”

“Everything.  He said”—her voice cracked—“he said it was all normal.”

“Really…?”

When Don trailed off, Mike perked up, saying, “Maybe it’s a power.”

Nia lifted her chin from the cot.  “A power?”

“Yeah, like a super hero!”

Nia didn’t share the youngest’s enthusiasm.  “Doubt it.”

“You can’t consider it impossible.  I mean, look at who you’re talking to.”  Mikey gestured at himself then his clan.  “Trust me; everyone here has seen a lot, stuff people couldn’t even imagine.  We—”

“Powers are tools, Mikey.  This…I can’t control it.  I don’t think it’s meant to be controlled, either.  Not…in that way.”

“But if not a power then what?”

“I—I don’t know!  Okay?  It’s a feeling.  An emptiness.  A desire.  Pain.  Th—there’re no words for it.  Why don’t you understand?”

Several jolts struck the Lab—like pulses of electricity that would’ve stood up every hair on Leo’s body, if he had any.  Pops erupted from Donny’s trinkets as the lights flickered.  The inventions sizzled with the smell of burnt rubber, and the jolts lasted until Nia collected a few ragged breathes.

“What was that?”  Mikey asked slowly.

“I’m through repeating myself,” Nia said in a small voice.

“Anders-san.”  Splinter gained the young woman’s attention.  “Whatever this is, your emotional state must play a part.  Perhaps if you explored it—“

“No!”  Nia jumped up from Splinter’s side, shaking her head while backpedaling.  “I don’t want to explore it anymore.  I’m done!  Done with the tests and theories.  With doctors.  With headaches.  I just want it all to go away!”  Leo watched as the young woman hugged herself, continuing through trembling lips.  “I’m sorry for the trouble.  I really am.  But I…I refuse to believe this must a part of me.”

“Don’t say that, Dudette.” Mikey managed a grin.  “It can’t be all bad.  Whatever this is, it’s an extension of you.  How can you reject yourself?”

“Because it hurts.  Sorry, I’m still tired, so I—I’m going to lay down.”

Mikey frowned, leaving April to nod approval.   Nia nodded back then headed for the doorway.  There, she paused, twisting to meet Splinter’s gaze.

“I really am sorry,” she said.

“Your apology has been accepted, Anders-san,” Splinter told her.

It seemed that was all Nia needed to hear.  Emotionless, she exited the Lab and moments after Donny sighed. 

“Alright, everybody out!” he exclaimed.  “Leo, please take Sensei to his bed.  I need my working space.”

“Geez, Brainiac,” Raph said while being pushed to the door.  “What’s the rush?”

“You see,” Donny paused, “Ape and I have research to do.”


	18. Compassion

 

* * *

 **T** he kakebuton over Splinter almost tore under the mutant’s claws—for although he loved his children, he had limits when being fussed over.

“Are you sure?” Leonardo asked in Japanese.

“Hai,” Splinter replied, “I am certain.”

“But—“

“Leonardo”—the rat faced the mutant turtle beside his futon—“there is no need for such concern any longer.”

Leonardo’s teeth gritted.  “How can you take the matter lightly, Otōsan?  She threw you across the Dojo.”

“Anders-san made no physical contact with me.  Besides, the act was unintentional.”

“I was there, Sensei.  I saw what she did, felt it.  Maybe…”  Leonardo’s eyes narrowed.  “Maybe Anders-san shouldn’t stay.  I know I reassured April we’d help, but…”

In wake of Leonardo’s lingering silence, Splinter watched his pupil, his son.  Frustration had cemented in the Jonin’s body over the last two days, tensing it, and he no longer hid the unease from his clan.

“My son,” Splinter spoke with caution, “I sensed your spirit in the Dojo, which is precisely why you should accept Anders-san’s apology.  She may have hurt me, but she was sincere in asking for forgiveness.”

“Sincerity doesn’t make her any less of a threat.”  Leonardo flinched when Splinter straightened, possibly because he anticipated the disproving stare of his father.

“Be careful, my son, lest you face the same war as Anders-san.  An imbalance rages inside her.  She is confused, insecure, and requires guidance towards harmony.  Forgiving her will give you both peace of mind.”  Splinter frowned when his son did nothing more than shake his head.  “Compassion is a virtue—one which should be exercised, particularly by powerful, Bushido warriors.”

“I want to forgive her.  Really.  But…”

“There is no excuse.”

“She—“

“Forgive her, Leonardo.”

The duo locked eyes.  Their contest lasted no longer than two heartbeats before Leonardo sighed, bowing his head.

“Hai, Sensei,” he said.

“Arigatou, my son.”  Twisting over his futon’s edge, Splinter stood on rigid legs.  He reached down to touch Leonardo’s cheek for his attention.  But when the Jonin glanced up, his expression was not as gentle as the master had hoped it would be.

“Raph and I did as Don asked,” said Leonardo, low.  “We left the photo for Mikey to bring up.  He asked Nia about it yesterday.  Guess what she claimed?  That she didn’t know Stockman’s name, let alone if he worked with her father.”

“You do not believe her.”

“I believe she’s still trying to hide.”

“Fear prevents many from accomplishing what is necessary.  Perhaps what Anders-san needs is a glimpse of your own courage.  With that, she may be inspired to open up.”

Leonardo sighed again, this time with palpable traces of annoyance.  “I’m just concerned for our clan, Otōsan.”

A paw rested on Leonardo’s shoulder as a sign of both reassurance and love.  “As am I, Leonardo,” Splinter whispered.  “As am I.”

### ━❖━

“Man, she really did a number on these,” Donatello told himself.  He surveyed the rectangular device he held then sighed.  Again.

While the contraption had held little purpose, Don would’ve been more content if its circuits had remained intact.  Procuring materials was like mining for diamonds for the Hamato clan, and unfortunately for him, at least two dozen projects in his Lab had been short-circuited.

‘ _Good thing my main computer isn’t stationed here,’ he thought.  ‘I would’ve gone crazy if I had to build another from scratch._ ’

Yesterday Nia had apologized.  Yet no matter much Donatello assured her all was forgiven, none of it was.  He hadn’t lied; he couldn’t hold an accident against someone.  Still…so much progress had been lost.

‘ _Guess I’ll need to pull more work shifts if April and I decide to go through with that plan._ ’

“How’s it going, Don?”

Donatello set his device on the steel table before him then faced Leonardo.  The genius saw no need to contain the grimace that he had hidden from Nia, so by the time Leo stood beside him, he groaned.

“Honestly?  Crappy.  All the circuits are fried.  The only thing these are good for now are doorstops.  I might as well have handed Mikey a rubber mallet and said ‘have at it!’”

“Sorry.”  Leo said this, though Don knew he held little remorse for anything electronic.

“Yeah, well, since you didn’t come in here with orders, I take it your search with Raph and Casey didn’t go well.”

“Not really.”  The Jonin crossed his arms over his plastron.  “Hun’s not at any of his usual hangouts.  And the PDs Raph and I came across wouldn’t squeal.  I’ve never seen them so obstinate before, Don.  Hun must be delivering some stirring speeches for these guys to endure so many broken bones for him.”

“How many broken bones exactly?” asked Don, watching his eldest brother flinch.

“A few.  Casey almost crossed the line, but after a certain point it became apparent they wouldn’t talk.  So we came home.”

“Will you go back out tonight?”

Leo sighed.  “Don’t know.  Odds are, one will cave, but…it felt wrong, beating them.  I—I couldn’t even explain to Sensei what we did, though I’m sure he knows.”

Frowning, Don placed a hand on Leonardo’s shoulder to regain the attention the Jonin had let slip.  “Torture isn’t part of our code, Leo.  If they don’t talk, so be it.  Hun won’t stay dormant forever.”

“You’re right.  The Jonin gave a weak smile as his brother’s hand fell.  “Which brings me to why I’m here.”

“You can’t ever stop by the Lab just to say ‘Hi’ can you?”

“Hi.  When’re you gunna tell us what you and April were brainstorming?”

“Later?”

“I don’t like being in the dark.”

“Says the ninja.”

“Donny.”

Sighing, the mechanic rotated his shoulder then leaned against the metal table.  “Look.  We had minor breakthroughs, which led to even more dead ends.  All we’re left with now is a…theory.”

“What kind of theory?”

“Uh.  It—it’s tentative.”

“Care to share it anyway?”  Judging by Leo’s stance, the question was everything but.

‘ _Forgive me, April,_ ’ thought Don.

“It’s about Bishop’s possible involvement,” the genius admitted.  He watched his brother’s expression darken then continued.  “Granted that the photo Raph found isn’t much proof, I think it does connect Gavin to Bishop.  Why?  Because Stockman had been involved with Erudio Laboratories while he was establishing Stocktronics.  Stockman said so in a self-published paper.  Anyway, if he, uh, stole Gavin’s research, it could’ve been brought to Bishop.  Honestly, I’m surprised there haven’t been more connections between Erudio and the EPF, all things considered.“ 

Here, the Jonin raised an eye ridge, though Don never expected him to understand.

“I mentioned this before,” Don added.  “Erudio’s famous for its Cytologists, scientists of genes, cells.”

“Right,” grumbled Leo.

“We couldn’t find any useful information on Erudio’s servers about Gavin.  But when Nia went missing, April handed me a chart that she had recovered from Gavin’s personal computer.  It’s dated six years ago, from when Erudio employed him.”

“I don’t follow.  How is a chart important?”

“Because this chart deconstructs some intriguing DNA.”

“Intriguing how?”

“Funny you should ask.  I showed the DNA to a source for a second opinion.  They agreed.  While parts of it are human, other parts…aren’t.”

“Ah—are you saying the DNA is mutant blood?”

Don shrugged.  “It has no traces of Mutagen.  Our Mutagen, anyway.  And Gavin’s notes never mentioned whose DNA it is or if it’s authentic.”

“And yet I get the feeling you and April already know whose it is.”

Don pushed off the steel table then began pacing the Lab so he needn’t face Leo’s intense stare.  “We have theories, Leo.  Nothing more.  And we can’t dish out premature accusations.  What April and I can confirm is that Gavin obsessed over this project, and Baxter could’ve given it to Bishop.”

“Is the graph the only information you have on this project?”

“We know Gavin called it Iníon.  Other than that…”  Don sighed.  “I hacked Erudio again last night—just for good measure.  Nothing is left about Gavin, other than a brief mention that he worked there.”

“Sounds like a cover-up.  Maybe Bishop took what he wanted then destroyed the rest.”

“He does have those kinds of recourses.”

“Kuso,” the Jonin spat.  A metallic bang echoed through the Lab, startling Don to a stop.  “I hate when the bad guys are steps ahead.”

“Likewise,” Donny countered.  His eyes left his brother’s scowl and found the concrete floor.  “Nia says she’s unenlightened about Gavin’s work.  But considering her…nature, her distaste for research, Gavin’s involvement with Cytology—”

“She knows something,” Leo concluded.  “She just won’t acknowledge it.”

“Not to us or herself.  Leo,” Don released a slow, defeated sigh, “in order to find out details about Iníon, Nia needs convinced that forgetting is no longer an option.”

Leonardo scoffed.  “I doubt that day will ever come.”

### ━❖━

Time had passed quickly for Leonardo.  Before he knew it, night fell and everyone retired to their rooms.  Well, save for one person: himself.

Meditation had done him little good—especially since his talks with Splinter and Donatello—and when his mind raced, he could never rest.  He reasoned it’d be best if he did something that involved less contemplation, so for the last two hours were spent mindlessly completed chores.

After the last dry dish found a home, Leo stepped back with a terrible realization.  ‘ _That wraps up…well, everything_. _What now?  I…I could check on Mikey, see if he needs anything._ ’

The Jonin crossed the living room, ascended the staircase leading to a railed balcony, and began his short journey down the second story hallway.  He hesitated at the farthest door on the left then gave it a knock.  When no one answered, he turned the knob to peer inside.

“Mikey?” he called into the dark.

Leo scanned the room for signs of life, yet only saw the looping intro of Speed Carts emanating from a television set at the foot of his little brother’s bed.  Upon closer inspection, Leo spotted Mikey on the mattress, a controller clung to his plastron like a lifeline.

‘ _Dork’s smiling.  Guess his game went well._ ’

Autopilot kicked Leo’s brotherly instincts into overdrive.  He turned off the noisy television then pulled the stained comforter over Mikey.  When Mikey began mumbling about having the highest score ever, Leo could only shake his head in amusement.

“Um.”

Leonardo jumped back at a light moan that disturbed the room’s silence.  He tensed, seeking the cause.  He spotted Nia in a chair, her slumped body half-leaning on the crook between the wall and Mike’s bed.  Her hair fanned around her while a dark blanket wrapped her legs like a cocoon.

‘ _How sloppy of me not to notice._ ’  Leo thought with a firm shake of his head.  ‘ _I should’ve expected as much.  But that doesn’t excuse my inability to sense her.  Ugh, I’m really not here today._ ’

 “No, please,” Nia whispered.  “Don’t..don’t…”

Leo neared the young woman as she flinched, whimpered, and mumbled.  Was she having a nightmare? Frowning, the mutant shook Nia’s shoulder.  She remained unresponsive, so Leo shook her again until her eyes shot open.  A scream sounded like nails on a chalkboard, and Leo found himself stunned by the arms Nia propelled forward.

“Anders!” the mutant hissed.  “Nia, stop.  It’s me!”

“Give them back!” Nia cried, slurring.  “Give…back…”

Leonardo grappled with the young woman’s arms.  “Come on, you’ll wake Mikey.  Will you please…“  Leo’s yell trailed off into a sigh.  When he spoke again, his words were less harsh.  “Nia, it’s okay.  You’re here with Mikey and Leo.  Nothing’s going to hurt you.  I…I promise.”

Nia froze, her expression morphing from fright to shame.  As her true vision recovered, she slid into onto the floor with the grace of a newborn giraffe.  Falling backwards, she sought to regain posture three times before she lifted her body by aid of a doorknob.  With one hand over her heart and another twisting her sweatpants, she tried to speak.  Her words, however, were no more graceful than her attempt to stand.

“It—it’s alright,” Leo said in the most reassuring voice he could muster.  “You’re fine.”

Nia flinched when the Jonin approached her, silent.

“Are you okay?” Leo asked.

The young woman nodded with fervor, like a quick response would mean a quick departure.

“You sure?”

Again, she nodded; though hesitantly.  “I…I didn’t wake Mikey, did I?” she whispered.

Leo glanced over his shoulder.  “No.  Guess he’s exhausted.” 

“H—He’s been playing that game for fourteen hours straight, so…”

“Fourteen?”  The blue-masked mutant grimaced as he returned his attention to Nia.

Nia giggled—a half-hearted action.  “He had me time him.  Said something about setting a—a—a new record.”

“For the fastest way to ruin your vision, maybe.”

“He doesn’t seem to mind.”

“Well, he should…”

Leo’s eyes adverted.  He sensed Nia do likewise.  Together, they stood in awkward silence before Nia sighed.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Excuse me?” replied Leo, automatic.

Nia faced the Jonin.  “I said, I’m sorry,” she repeated, hugging herself.  “F—for everything.  I never meant for anyone to get hurt.”

There was remorse in Nia’s tone that Leo could neither deny nor ignore.  Even so, his heart couldn’t—wouldn’t—let her sincerity blind him like it did his clan.

How could Mikey disregard the danger Nia presented?  Why was Don willing to keep her close after she destroyed years of experiments?  Even Splinter, Casey, and April acted like her ‘feeling’ posed no further threat.  Had everyone gone mad?

The Jonin growled—a deep, dangerous sound that made Nia back up against the brick wall.

“Mi—Mister Leonardo?” she questioned.

Leonardo, however, couldn’t reply.  His blood boiled, just like it’d done during Splinter’s talk earlier.  And although he tried tempering it with reason, the emotion forced him from the bedroom.  He knew Nia hadn’t done anything with disdain.  Beneath her poor choices and fear, he knew that.

So why did he feel such resentment?

“Mister Leonardo!”

The Jonin sensed the young woman follow him down the hall.  He stopped once he reached the balcony, and even then, he allowed for nothing more than his carapace to be seen by her.

“Listen, Answers-san—“

“Pl—please,” Nia interjected, her tone sharp with desperation.  “I said I’m sorry.  I’ve said it so many times.  Why won’t you believe me?”

“It’s not a matter of belief,” Leo answered, his six fingers curling into fists.  “It’s…complicated,”

“Please, Mister Leonardo.  I—I can’t stand the looks anymore.  Not from you or Mister Raphael.  Th—they hurt my chest.  And my head.  I…I’m trying my hardest.  H—honestly, I am, but I…”

The Jonin’s eyes narrowed.  “That’s a lie, Anders-san,” he said through clenched teeth.  “If you were trying, you wouldn’t be this selfish, making others suffer because of things you don’t want to face.  That’s not teamwork.  That’s not helping.  That’s cowardice.”  Behind him he could hear a sniffle.

“This…this has been hard, and I can’t understand why you won’t—“

“What?  Forgive you?”  The mutant spun around.  Every ounce of his restraint dried up when he locked eyes on Nia’s tear-stained face, and he didn’t fight to regain it.  “You wanna know why?  Because you could’ve _killed_ my father!”

There, he admitted it: the truth that’d been festering in the darkest part of his heart.  The idea terrified him.  It terrified him so bad he could scream.  And while he found relief in releasing his secret, the confession was bitter-sweet.  Nia nodded, smiling, despite the tears flowing down her reddened cheeks.

“Anders-san,” Leo started,

“No,” Nia whispered.  “I get it.  Somehow, I—I knew it.  I knew that was the reason.  I knew it would be ever since I left.  That’s part of why I ran…and I’m sorry.  It was an accident.”

Leo’s sigh was heavy.  “I’m sorry, too.  You hadn’t meant it, but…”

“He’s your father.”  The brunette wiped away tears with sweater’s sleeve, though they were soon replaced.  “It’s understandable.  I—I know without good reason it would—would be hard for me to forgive anyone who hurt my parents.”

‘ _That’s right, her family’s…_ ’  Leonardo sighed again.

“I—I’m going to go back to bed.” 

“Uh.  Yeah.”  Leo sidestepped.  “After you.”

Nia ran a hand through her unruly hair then began rubbing her arm.  “That’s okay.  I…I’ll go back to Mikey’s room.  It’ll be better, since I can help if he needs anything.”

“Right.  Um.  Thank you.”  The Jonin’s gratitude came out more awkward than intended, but Nia smiled all the same.

“Well, night,” she said.  “Thanks for…forgiving me.”

Without awaiting a reply, Nia spun on a heel and trotted towards Michelangelo’s room.  The door shut with a soft ‘click’ and a grin worked its way across Leonardo’s mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One ninja down. One to go. Guess who stars in the next chapter. Hehe.


	19. Understanding

 

* * *

 **R** aphael’s pointed never once wavered.  It kept focused on Nia’s flushed face like a missile locking onto a target.

“Not happenin’,” he said, toned arms crossed. 

Eyes downcast, Nia shifted.  “Y—you don’t understand,” she countered.  “I have to.”

“Why?  So ya can get inta more trouble?”

“T—there won’t be any trouble.”  The human tried to smile yet failed.  “R—really.  I just—“

“Look, I’m playin’ nice for Mike’s sake.  So just drop this crap before I bring up points ya really ain’t gunna like.”

“But I—“

“No.”

“But—“

“What part ‘a ‘no’ don’t ya under—?”

“What’s going on?” Leonardo’s authoritative voice cut off his brother’s question.

From his peripheral vision, Raph watched Leo cross the Lair’s living room.  “Anders wants ta go Topside,” he said when the Jonin reached him.  “Says it’s ‘stuffy’ down here.”

 Leo’s focus found Nia, but rather than glare, he flashed a concerned frown.  “Have you forgotten your last trip?”

“I didn’t forget,” Nia replied.  There was a trembling whine to her words as she met his gaze.

“Good,” countered Leo.  “Then you know you can’t.”

“P—please,” the human continued, “I’ll climb the first fire escape I find and stay on its roof.  I just…I need to be outside, in the open.”

The Jonin shook his head.   “I’m sorry.  It’s too risky.”

Something happened within the split second Leonardo stopped speaking: a sudden switch.  The timidness behind Nia’s eyes flared into a blue-green fire.  It hardened her features and sent tingles through the room.

“So is staying down here,” she whispered.  “I can’t look at walls all day.  I need out.  Now.  Before…”  Abruptly, Nia paused.  As quick as the switch flicked on, it flicked off—tingle and all.  Her vision fell, her voice now broken.  “Please.  Even if it’s for half an hour, I have to see the sky.”

‘ _So,_ ’ Raph thought, fighting an amused smirk, ‘ _little Miss Temperance does has a breakin’ point._ ’

“Let the child go, Leonardo.”  This elderly voice broke the settling silence—a tender yet definite command.  Splinter stood between Leo and Nia before Raph even sensed him enter the room.

“Sensei,” Leo started, “the Purple Dragons are still looking for her.”

“True as that may be, we are not a prison.”  Splinter gave his eldest son a stern, knowing look.  Leo nodded his reluctant compliance, but when Nia opened her mouth, Splinter held up a paw, saying, “I do, however, request you take one of my sons, Anders-san.  For safety.”

Though he said ‘request’, everyone knew it was a requirement, even Nia.  She faulted then sighed, biting her lip.

“Which one ‘a us are ya gunna assign that lovely duty?” Raph grumbled.

“You, my son.”

Everyone froze.  Then, three sets of eyes landed on the red-masked mutant.

“I ain’t no babysitter,” Raph spat.

“Raphael,” Splinter’s voice was as resolute as his stare, “it is impolite to ignore a young woman’s request.” 

Raphael knew what would happen should he meet his father’s black eyes.  So he voided them.  After waving a hand, he stormed out of the Lair, leaving the human to follow suit.  Her strides hardly harmonized with his throughout the waterways, though not due to length.  Certainly an Olympian would have difficulty keeping par with his drive, and he lacked the decency to care. 

By the time a manhole was chosen, Nia’s footfalls had developed into a trot.  Raph climbed the service ladder then flipped the metal cover above as if it weighted no more than a dinner plate.  He crouched along the road, staring down at Nia.  There, his hand hesitated before it captured her.  He brought her from the manhole up a fire escape to the roof of a pathetic apartment building.

“Half an hour, a’right?” Raph asked.

Nia nodded.  She meandered to the building’s ledge then perched her ass on it like a park bench.  Several minutes passed without conversation—quiet, motionless, awkward.  It was enough to drive a ninja crazy. 

‘ _How’d I get stuck here?_ ’ Raph thought, shifting.  His bare feet crunched against the layer of gravel that filled the roof’s inner lip.  ‘ _If this is supposed ta test my patience or some crap, I swear I’ll—I’ll..._ ’

Raph sighed, knowing he couldn’t retaliate against his father.

‘ _Mike’s on bed-rest still, but why not pick Don?  Hell, even Leo seems less tense.  Somehow.  I’m, like, the worst turtle for this job.  So many things about this damn chick make my stomach twist.  Besides, I swear she’s…she’s scared ‘a me._ ’

Why’d that thought weigh on Raph’s chest?  Plenty of people in New York City feared him, especially criminals.  Then again, Nia was no criminal.  And while he wanted to pretend otherwise, Raph wanted to help.  He needed to help.  Maybe his intimidation was growing out of hand…

‘ _Ain’t my fault she’s a coward, though.  If she had any backbone, she’d be upfront.  But no.  She just sits around like a lump while we figure things out.  How’s that fair?_ ’

Raph glanced at the human then sneered.

‘ _Nothing she does makes sense.  Trust her, Mikey says.  Dumbass.  She hurt Splinter an’ I’m supposed ta accept her?  Just like that?_ ’

The Chūnin’s fingers curled into powerful fists.  He hadn’t realized they’d done so until his gaze veered sideways.  By then, he could feel his teeth grit together, and he snorted before his conscious had a chance to catch up with his impulses.

“Why do ya do that?” he asked.  His deep voice caught Nia’s attention, and he almost rolled his eyes at the startled look she sent.  “It’s irritatin’ as hell.”

“W—what is?” she countered

“You!”  Raph’s arms waved as Nia shied away.  “I really don’t know where ta begin.  Like, why can’t ya speak yer mind?  In my experience, most chicks don’t got a problem wit’ that.  What’s wrong wit’ ya?” 

The Chūnin’s thoughts gravitated towards Angel and April: two opinionated, independent women.  Unlike them, Nia didn’t stand her ground.  She slinked off the concrete ledge then curled up alongside it.  By the time Raph growled, she’d ducked her head and pulled her sweater over her drawn up legs.

“Do ya run away from everything?” Raph spat.

Nia gave no reply—not a twitch, glance, or hick.  It was enough evidence to convince Raph she’d been in similar arguments before.  If one could count this as an argument.  Even Raph felt like an interrogator, but he found it necessary.  He’d suffered through her silence for almost two weeks.  He kept his distance.  He played nice.  What had his restraint earned him?  Fear.  He couldn’t stand the why she’d look at him, like he were a…

Monster.

He was nothing of the sort.  Tonight, Nia would understand that.  So, Raph planted his feet, and the human stiffened under his hard stare.

“Listen,” Raph started, “I’m sorry about yer parents.  An’ yer home.  An’ that some whack-job wants ya.  Believe me when I say my bros ‘n I feel yer pain.  But that’s no reason ta be ungrateful.”

Nia’s shoulder twitched.  “I—I’m not ungrateful,” she said.

“Oh, I see.  I must be so socially inept that I forget grateful people treat ya like a plague an’ never say thanks for usin’ their shit.  That’s, uh, good ya reminded me.  Thanks.”

“That’s not—I don’t…”  The young woman exhaled.  “Gratefulness has nothing to do with it.  I—I’ve just never been one to…click with others.”

“Why?  Scared they’ll find out about yer little feelin’?”

Nia gripped her knees tighter.  “You have more right to be leery th—than I do, but…it’s not easy for me, either.”

“That why ya get along wit’ Mikey?”  The human’s frown faltered as Raph crouched to her eyelevel.  “Do ya think if ya ignore a problem long enough it’ll disappear?  News flash: life doesn’t work that way.”

“There’s nothing I can do about my problem.”

Raph scoffed at Nia’s wavering gaze.  “Ya know what bothers me most, Anders?  The fact that ya don’t fight or endure.  Ya run.  Even when ya’re in a corner.  Where do ya think ya’ll go?  It’s—actually, it’s painful ta watch.”

Perhaps the mutant was being cruel, yet the words were truth.  Judging by the wounded look across Nia’s face, she was aware of as much when Raph continued.

“We don’t mind helpin’.  It’s what my bros ‘n I have taken an oath ta do.  But ya got ta help, too.  I can’t imagine doin’ what ya do.  How can ya not be angry?  How can ya remain impassive?  If my clan were taken away…”  Raph laughed snidely, his head shaking.

“A—are you insinuating…I didn’t care about my parents?”  Though soft, Nia’s tone held offense.

“No,” Raph answered.  “When ya talked about yer nightmare, I could tell how much ya cared for ’em.  But ya ain’t lettin’ the pain motivate ya.  Yer lettin’ it beat ya.  Ya should try harder!”

“Will everyone stop saying that?” Nia screamed.  She stood and regarded the mutant with pained anger.  “I miss Mama and Daddy so badly I can hardly breathe sometimes.  I’m terrified about what that German wants from me.  I’m lost over what direction my life will now take.  But a person can only withstand so much, Mister Raphael!  I—I’m not strong.  I’m not like you.  Or Miss April.  Or Mister Michelangelo.  It’s just easier to…forget.”

“How does that help?”

“I—it’s nothing.”  Nia’s voice regained its gentleness when she glanced over the neon-lit horizon.  “You made it clear you didn’t want to stay out long, so...”

Vision low, the young woman turned.  Raphael caught her upper arm before she stepped away.  He forced her to face him and tried reining in his leer.

“We ain’t leavin’ things like this,” he hissed.  “If I let ya go now, we may never come ta an understandin’.”

Nia’s pale face scrunched.  “Understanding?”

“Yeah.  Look, I ain’t good wit’…tact.  But despite what ya might think, I wanna help as much as Mike does.  It’s one thing we share in common.”  Raph released Nia, barely confident that she’d stay, and then sighed.  “I don’t expect ya ta hand yer heart over on a silver platter.  All I’m askin’ for is a little respect.  If we ask a question, it’s ta help.  So answer honestly.  Don’t take advantage ‘a us.”

The young woman’s eyes flashed again.  “I’m not here to take advantage of anyone!”

“Then prove it.  Step up.  Face life ‘cuz that’s what responsible adults do.  My father taught me that.  What about yers?”

The mutant never faltered—not when Nia glared and trembled, not even when her erratic breath grew in unison with a prickly sensation that danced inside his muscles. He thought the human would recoil again.  She didn’t.

“I’ve already told you,” Nia whispered, stern, “I’m not strong.”

Snorting, Raph stepped forward until his face was mere inches from Nia’s.  “What a piss poor excuse.  Ya can be strong.  Ya’re just too crippled by fear to try.  What would yer parents say about that?”  A pit settled in Raph’s stomach when Nia’s eyes widened, but a careful inhale rid him of the discomfort.  “Do ya really want our help, Anders?”

 “I—I have nowhere else to go.”

“That ain’t what I asked.”  The Chūnin caught Nia’s blue-green eyes, his face still close.

After a silent moment, she whispered, “I do.  I do want help.”

“Then stop runnin’.  An’ be honest.  It’s the only way ya’ll get through this mess.”

The human gave a nod as Raph stepped back.  They kept their attention on one another, silent, until Nia blinked, glancing down at her High Tops.

“S—so,” she started, “is this what you wanted all along?  Am I the reason why you’ve been so—?”

 “Don’t flatter yerself,” Raph interjected.  “It’s been a collection ‘a things.  Although yer little attack on Splinter didn’t help.”

“It wasn’t an attack!  I told Mister Leonardo too.  It was an accident.  I…I had just hoped I wouldn’t have another episode so soon…”

“So ya have talked wit’ Leo.”

“Last night, yeah.  H—he accepted my apology and we…”

“Came ta an understandin’?”

She swallowed.  “I—in a way.  He was being aggressive because of what I’d done to Mister Splinter.  I told him I knew that and that I was sorry.  He apologized as well.  Now, I…I don’t feel as intimidated by him.”

“Really?”  One of Raph’s eye ridges rose.  “Guess that puts us all on the same page.  I’m also sorry.  But in my defense, yer ostrich attitude has been pissin’ me off.”

“O—ostrich?”

“Yeah.  Ya know?  Ya just hide an’ wait for trouble ta pass.”

“Oh...”

The mutant huffed.  “Bottom line: I can’t stand my family stressin’ over someone who doesn’t seem ta give a damn.”

“But I do,” Nia added, weak.

“So show it.”  The mutant kept quiet, staring into the human’s uncertain eyes, then straightened with a sigh.  “We ought ta get back before Fearless has a conniption fit.  He has this thing about knowin’ where we are.”  Raph headed for the fire escape, only to be stopped when Nia called his name.  “What?” he asked, facing her.

“Do you…do you think I can change?”

“Ya don’t gotta change, Anders.  Just…grow.  I think ya can handle that much.”

The smile on the Nia’s face strengthened.  “Thank you.”

“Y—yeah, sure, whatever.”  Raph looked aside then cleared his throat.  “Hurry up.  I think Mike wanted ta watch some scary movies wit’ ya.”

“Sounds fun.  W—will you join us?” 

Raphael’s hand twitched beneath Nia’s when she accepted his help onto the fire escape, but he managed a smirk.  “I call first dibs.”

**━❖━**

Bishop stood inside a cell made of concrete and metal.  He remained stationary beyond its iron entrance, his face void of all emotion.  No matter the cost, he would not allow his prisoner to know how far he had crawled beneath the warden’s skin. 

“Still have no answers for me?” Bishop questioned.

“I…have nothing…to say to you,” his prisoner managed through raspy breathes.

“After all you have been through?”

“Must be frustrating, huh?”

Bishop sighed at the prisoner’s bitter laugh.  “I find no enjoyment in doing this.  It sickens me, hurts me, as equally as it does you.  Both our pain could stop if you simply tell me what I need to know.”

Another bitter laugh sounded.  “Never.”

Never.  How Bishop loathed that word.  It haunted his thoughts and dreams to the brink of insanity.

“How…is my wife?”

The expected question made the EPF leader smirk.  “Not knowing must be frustrating, huh?”

“Is she alive?” the prisoner asked, this time more forceful.

 “Of course.  Without leverage, who would make you behave?”

A flash of red reflected beneath the cell’s central light.  However, the prisoner’s lacking strength and rooted chains prevented him from charging far.  He landed on his face, and Bishop raised his chin with a sneer.

“How far you have fallen,” he said.  “Such a shame; you were a bright scientist, full of…promise.  But you are also blind, it seems.  My apologies.  I sincerely wish this could end, yet it seems I will be back tomorrow.”

Bishop spun on the heel of his dress shoe and ordered the door be opened.  Hydraulics hissed as they followed his command, allowing the agent to cross its thick threshold into the white hallway beyond.  As the slab of metal began closing, Bishop spoke to the prisoner with a hint of twisted humor.

“Rest well, Mister Anders.”


	20. Detective

 

* * *

When Casey had said his apartment was a rat hole, he hadn’t been giving it enough credit.

Not only did it hold prime real-estate in a crack-head hotspot, its maneuverability matched that of a double-wide railcar.  The walls’ plaster chipped and smelled like musk.  The tacky floor ensured the redhead kept her shoes on.  And it was furnished by little more than a mattress and scuffed nightstand.  No rugs.  No privacy.  No air fresheners.  One window alone seemed to be a treat, as the other window above the kitchen sink had been boarded up instead of replaced.

April’s first instinct had been to scream—either in terror or aggravation, whichever would be more suitable.  But she had withheld by reminding herself that she’d be on hand should the Hamatos need her.  Even if she needed to fend of cockroaches while she slept.

 “Casey.”  April’s eyes roamed the refrigerator’s scant contents then settled on the man lazing on the mattress.  “Casey!”

“What, Red?” Casey answered.  He kept his eyes set on a small television.

“Leftover pizza and beer is hardly a diet.”

“It’s worked for me so far.”

April sighed as she shut the fridge door, its glass bottles rattling on the inside.  “Really, Arnold.  You don’t even have any more water bottles.”

“There’s a tap.”

The redhead paled at the dish-clogged sink Casey pointed towards.  “No way in hell am I drinking anything that comes out of that.”

Casey huffed.  “Then why not go shoppin’ instead ‘a complainin’?”

“Maybe I will!”  After grabbing her windbreaker, April left her boyfriend to his wrestling show then stormed outside the apartment.

Jeez.  Since when did she become so easily dismissed?  While Casey may’ve been exhausted from patrolling with Leonardo and Raphael, that gave him no right to be flippant!  Did he honestly expect her to be content with beer and pizza?  Beer wasn’t even a real drink!  How had he lived this long?

Right, usually she cooked.

With a shake of her head, April stepped onto the building’s cracked stoop.  September’s wind teased the loose hairs that strayed from her bun and warmed her to the point where she wished she’d snatched a pair of shorts that morning instead of blue jeans.

‘ _Better safe than sorry, I guess,_ ’ she thought. ‘ _Least I have a t-shirt._ ’  Smiling, the redhead tied the windbreaker around her waist and began her journey.

### ━❖━

April had made good timing while shopping in Korea Town.  In under an hour, she waited to checkout at Rae’s Market, but then spotted something that could ruin her goal and mood.

‘ _Maybe if I duck, he’ll—_ “

“Miss O’Neil?”

Mid-duck, April turned.  A dark-skinned man dressed in semi-casual clothes towered over the general crowd.  He cut through them, his focus trained on the redhead’s smile.

“Detective Reese,” April said with difficulty.  “What’re you doing here?”

The detective’s mouth twitched into a grin that showcased a dimple on his left cheek.  “Same as you, I imagine,” he answered.  “Shopping for dinner.  You come here often?”

“No.  Not really.  This is my first time, actually.”

“Ah, well, Rae’s is great.  I stop here weekly for my wife.  She loves Asian food.”

“Oh, does she?”

“She’s obsessed with it.  We eat it so often I’m surprised we’re not Korean ourselves.”

April snickered alongside the detective.  ‘ _Please don’t mention Nia.  Please don’t mention Nia._ ’

“Where’s Nia?”  Hugh surveyed the market.  “I thought you were in Northampton getting some ‘old-fashioned farm air’.”

“We were.  Did.”  April shifted the basket handles she held from one hand to the other.  “We came back the other day.”

“And never notified me.”

“Sorry.  It slipped our minds.”

“You could make it up to me by letting me see Nia.”

April quirked an eyebrow before she knew it.  “Why do you have such an interest in Nia, Detective?”

Hugh paused then sighed.  When his eyes caught April again, he said,  “I’ll tell you.  But not here.  Bryant Park is seven blocks up the street.  Let’s sit there.”

“Okay…”

### ━❖━

April and Hugh walked in silence.  They settled on a bench in Bryant Park’s center and hesitated before either one disturbed the tranquil scene of late-summer botany.

“Alright, why the interest in Nia?” April asked.

“I’m worried,” Hugh replied.

“Yes.  But why?”

A long sigh escaped the detective.  “Because it’s the only way I can think to honor Mia.”

“Mia?”  April’s attention found Hugh, her eyes round.  “You mean Mia Anders?”

The detective nodded.

“You knew her.”

“Yeah.  We grew up together.  In a way.”

April’s focus returned to the potted Caladiums ahead.  “What do you mean by ‘in a way’?”

Hugh sucked in a sharp breath.  “You could say we came from separate sides of the railroad track.  Literally.  We lived in southern New Hampshire, oh, about thirty-some years ago.  We were both born in [Hillsborough County](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hillsborough_County,_New_Hampshire).  But I came from a trailer park, and she came from a place where they verify your Social Security on a daily basis.”

“So”—April smirked—“you were the Princess and the Pauper?”

“Something like that.  We were around seven or eight when we first met.  And she hated me.”

“What?  Was she taught not mingle with commoners?”  Amusement laced April’s tone, yet Hugh’s scoff showed no appreciation for it.

“Not commoners.  African-Americans.”

April bit her lip, trailing off with a soft “Oh.”.

“Mia’s maiden name is Johnson,” continued Hugh.  “And the Johnsons are infamous for their white supremacy.  Back then, Mia carried on the family tradition with pride.  When we crossed paths in the woods that separated our worlds, she claimed a monopoly on it.”

“Gutsy.”

“No.  Annoying.  I lead a gang at the time, which consisted of my little sister and a few friends from Poorsville.”

“Poorsville?”

“That’s what they called our neighborhood.”

“The children?”

“The adults.”

April’s lips pursed just thinking about the disrespect.

“Anyways,” Hugh added, “we squabbled for years, trying to outmaneuver one another.  That land became something more than a place for a fort.  It became a principle, and neither group would give it up.  Personally, I fought to make it a point that blacks and whites have equal chances.”

“What about her?”

Hugh chuckled as he rubbed his long hands.  A fondness grew inside him during his tale.  April sensed it from his reminiscent tone and distant eyes.  The man smiled—a fleeting action which came then went depending on the word spoken.

“Mia fought out of pure stubbornness and because she’s a sore loser,” Hugh said with quirked lips.  “But somewhere between middle school and junior high the war became a game.  Then by freshman year I realized something scary: I had a crush on Mia.”

The redhead raised an eyebrow.

“Right?” Hugh asked.  “Here was a girl who hated me for a million and one reasons.  Obviously, the crush would remain one-sided.  Or so I thought.”

April shifted along the stone bench, studying a Mum’s many petals.  “You’re Mia’s ex?”

“And for the longest time I—I thought I was her soul mate.”

“What happened?”

“We secretly dated.  We didn’t attend the same school, so keeping things under wraps was doable.  Until graduation.”

April cringed in preparation for the story’s sour turn.

“We wanted to marry and agreed we should have her family’s blessing.  Or pardon.  I tell you what; she did some serious convincing to get me in that house.  And what happened after…”  Hugh’s mouth grew taunt.  “In short, I drew blood on her brother.  Police got involved.  Mia was disowned.  So we left Nashua, came to New York for a fresh start.”

How does one respond to such news?  That’s tough, Man?  Sorry?  Nothing that came to April’s mind seemed tactful enough, so she sought another approach.

“You two went through so much together,” she started.  “What drove you apart?”

A haunting emotion overshadowed Hugh as his shoulders slumped.  “Honestly?  Me.  We postponed marriage for our careers.  Mia studied realty while I found a passion with the NYPD.  My job…consumed me.  Which hampered Mia’s plans.”

“What plans were those?”

“Children.  I wasn’t ready.  Didn’t want them.  So we fought about it until a wedge formed between us.”

“I—I’m sorry,” April said, automatic yet honest.

Hugh shook his head once.  “Part of me thought that, given time, we’d find each other again.  Only when we did, Mia was with Gavin—a guy I, uh, never saw eye-to-eye with.”

“Why not?”

“For one, I had arrested him on several occasions.  That tends to strain a friendship.”

“You arrested Gavin?  What for?”

“Assault, mostly.  Sometimes, possession or arson.  He was a drug runner for the Forty-Four Crew back in eighty-nine.”

Wait.  Was he kidding?  Gavin?  The only man April knew who walked with grace?  The one with a refined appreciation for South American statues?  A former drug runner?

“You’ll catch flies with your mouth open like that, Miss O’Neil.”

“Sorry.  I—I’m just.”  The redhead blinked for focus.  “Mind-boggled.”

Hugh gave a morose laugh.  “I was too, but for reasons unlike yours.  Gavin was dangerous, good at his job.  Like he’d been doing it for years prior to what his immigration papers indicated.  He always found scapegoats and loopholes in the Law.”

“So he was never convicted?”

“Not once.  And Mia became convinced she could…I don’t know, save him.”

“Well.”  April’s hands wrung as she imagined Casey.  “Sometimes, a woman can save her man.  No matter how retarded he is.”

“Yeah.  Anyways, Mia and I lost touch.  Think the last contact I had with her was nearly sixteen years ago, when she adopted Nia.”

“It makes sense for you—“  April froze.   “Did you just say Nia’s adopted?”

Hugh met the redhead’s stunned expression evenly.  “I did.  After Mia married Gavin, she discovered she couldn’t…have children.”

“I—I never would’ve thought—”

“Why would you?  I imagine Nia’s adoption wasn’t something they paraded around.”

“Still…”

“Mia wrote a letter the day they took Nia home.  A final goodbye.  Guess she remembered me well enough to know I needed it.”  Hugh released a controlled sigh through his wide nostrils.  “I’d been harping on the things I could’ve done to keep Mia.  When she severed herself, I felt…relieved, as if freed me from a spell.  Just in time, too.  I met my wife in the following month.”

“Wow.”  April slumped against the bench’s backrest, breath lost and mind reeling.

‘ _So, I knew the Anders less than I thought I did.  Not really surprising, but this means Nia…_ ’

Nia had an unknown biological lineage.

‘ _Could explain her weird…feeling.  And Iníon.  Gavin may’ve known all along, but didn’t want Nia to know she’s adopted.  Why not?  Doesn’t seem like good prioritization._ ’

“Miss O’Neil.”  April caught Hugh’s stern gaze as he continued.  “Mia was my first love.  Call me a romantic, but no matter how far we drift, she’ll always own part of my heart.  She wanted so badly to become a mother.  I know Nia must’ve been her life.  If I protect that girl, maybe Mia’s spirit rest in peace and…maybe she’ll forgive me.  Which is my reason for calling every day.”

“Sometimes twice a day.  You’re rather persistent.”

“So I’ve been told.”

April wished to join Hugh’s chuckle, but was hindered by her thoughts.

‘ _If he cares this much, maybe he can help.  It wouldn’t hurt to have a police officer as back-up, even if he borderlines harassment at times._ ’

“Reese?” April asked, tentative.  “Could I ask a favor?”

The man’s smile died, black brows furrowed.  “Depends,” he countered.

“On what?”

“On whether or not you’re asking Hugh Reese or Detective Reese.”

“I’m asking Detective Reese.”  April paused to ensure she earned the Hugh’s consideration.  When he showed no signs of dismissal, she nodded, adding, “The reason I’ve been dodgy is because a man—possibly two—has shown a disturbing interest in Nia.”

“A stalker?” Hugh asked, his tone grave.

“He claimed he was a scientist who could help Nia, yet never gave a name or reason to trust him.  That said, he sounded genuinely sincere.”

“So do Sociopathic sex offenders.  It’s their skill.”

“Call it a hunch, but I believe he isn’t the only…threat against Nia.  I just wish I had his identity, so I can make further judgments.”

“As do I,” grumbled Hugh.

“Does this mean you’ll help?”

 “Of course.  Can you remember the scientist’s face?”

“I got a good look when he grabbed my arm.”

“Then if you come to the station, a sketch artist can—“

“Actually, is it possible to keep this low-key?  Between us?  I have a feeling the police are being tracked and recorded.”

“You think that guy can bypass our firewalls?”

April grimaced under the obvious laughter the detective withheld.  ‘ _He says that like it’s never been done.  If only he knew Donny._ ’

“The scientist has already proven his capabilities,” April added.  “And it’s likely the second man possess stronger recourses than him.”

“What kind of scientist is this?” Hugh asked, amusement dying.

“A tall one, almost seven foot, with a pale complexion that would shame snow.  He looked disheveled, but wore pricey clothes.  Eye bags, scraggly hair, and crazy talk aside, he seemed like someone who ought to be accepting a Nobel Prize.  What?”

Hugh’s dark face hardened, to the point where it seemed like he was glaring at his own thoughts.  “Was he around his late forties?  Narrow faced and possibly a scar on his neck?”

“I can’t confirm the scar, but…Do you know him?  Is he a criminal?”

“Not to me knowledge.  I only recognized the description because I remember sitting at the table for breakfast and thinking he looked like a horse.”

“You had breakfast with him?”

“No.  He was featured in a paper my wife’s subscribed to.  Her sister is a doctor and Rina finds the field interesting.  Only Lord knows why.”

“Well,” said April, “do you know his name?”

“Kingston,” Hugh answered.  “Doctor Charles Kingston.  But…what would a successful surgeon want with Nia?”

### ━❖━

Another groan escaped Charles Kingston as he wrapped gauze around his torso.  With a sharp hiss, he ended the roll and considered applying a third.  Anything to relieve the burn inside his rib cage and collar bone.  He was a doctor, so he knew why the pain persisted.  The injuries should’ve bed-ridden him, but he couldn’t afford the luxury.  Not when he had so many obstacles to push through.

First, shadow figures had kept Nia Anders from his possession.  At one point, Charles had been certain of their identities.  He was proven wrong, though, and now feared they—these Phantoms—would intervene again.

Then, not a week later, Agent Bishop tracked him to the subway station.  Charles had barely escaped the agent’s wrath, thanks in part to his mandatory EPF training.  But despite the reprieve, he knew he’d been placed on a grim wanted list.

Circumstances had kicked the man so low that he’d resorted to hiring thugs.  They, too, had failed.  And while Hun’s phone calls reassured that Nia Anders would be found, Charles’ faith in the crime boss dwindled with each day.

‘ _Damn it all!_ ’

“Charles?”

Charles faced a curvy woman in his bed, that beautiful being known as his wife.  She lay under the sheets, an angelic site of olive skin and waving locks beginning to gray.  Her unseeing eyes stared off into the distance, but he could feel her spirit peering into his own.  When fingertips brushed his lower back, he knew she was confirming his position.

Charles smiled—knowing she could sense him doing so—and placed a hand against her sunken cheeks.  “Sorry to wake you, Madeleine,” he said in a German whisper.  “The injuries from my last job were giving me some difficulties.”

Madeleine sighed, annoyance animating the wrinkles along her face.  “You should just call off.  I can’t believe the construction company says you need to come in when you should be resting.”

“We need the money, Maddie.”

Meddie frowned then lifted a hand to cover that of her husband’s.  “I know,” she whispered.  “I just wish you were still in the medical field.  Those charges against you were bogus.”

Charles released a breathy chuckle that pained him.  “Always the fighter.  No wonder Olivia takes after you, even if you share no blood.”  The man’s hand migrated from his wife’s cheek to her hair, admiring its coarse texture.  “I’ll fix this, Madeleine.  Her.  Promise.”

Maddie smiled, leaning into her husband’s touch.  “I know you will, Charles.  I know you will.”


	21. The Game

 

* * *

 **A** lthough Nia’s pudgy legs dangled over a building ledge, the sheer twenty-four story drop below didn’t unnerved her.  Heights, after all, were far less terrifying than small talk.

‘ _Say something!_ ’ she thought.  ‘ _Anything to make this less awkward!_ ’

“So,” Nia started, stiff, “h—how about a game?”

Raphael tore his attention away from the busy streets to face the artist.  “What?” he questioned.

Nia glanced sideways, noting how Raphael’s dark features contorted, as if she’d spoken an alien language.  “I said, how about a—a game?”

In the silent moments that passed, Nia thought her question went ignored.  Probably under the pretense of it being silly.  A game?  What were they?  Ten?  Ugh.

“What kind ‘a game?” Raphael continued.

“I—I don’t know,” Nia added.  “Something, uh, easy?”

“Easy?”

“It could be fun!”  Nia’s voice squeaked as she ignored the mutant’s gaze.  “Just not a physical game.  I get winded going up stairs.  Which, I admit is unhealthy and sad.  But I hate exercise.  The sweating, the exertion, the soreness.  It’s unpleasant.  A—a—anyways.  What was I saying?  Oh, yeah!  A game.  An easy game.  Word game?  We don’t have board games.  How about one where we get to know each other like Twenty Questions?” 

By her conclusion, Nia heaved with a forced grin plastered across her face.  And Raphael remained still.

‘ _Stupid Nia_.  _Why do you always ramble?  Even I’m annoyed!  He doesn’t care about your lacking exercise habits!  Why would he?  Stupid!  Stupid!  Stupid!_ ’

“Twenty Questions, eh?”

Nia’s grin died.  Why’d the mutant sound on the verge of laugher?  Inhaling, the artist watched Raphael.  He didn’t look annoyed, though her brows furrowed when he claimed a seat on the ledge.

“Is Twenty Questions funny?” she asked.

“No,” he countered.  “It’s just—ya know that’s a guessin’ game, right?”

“N—no, it isn’t.”

“Yeah, it is.  One party picks an object an’ the second party has twenty questions ta identify it.”

“Mama never taught it that way.”

“What way did she teach it, then?”  With an eye ridge raised, Raphael sat Indian-style then twisted his head towards Nia.

“We—well, she used it to“—the artist exhaled—“to help me bond with classmates.  You take turns asking questions about each other.  Th—they can be anything: dreams, likes, fears, uh…”  Uncertainty silenced Nia.  She contemplated retracting her suggestion, but then Raphael spoke up.

“We’ll play.  On one condition.”

“W—what’s that?”

“Shin.”

“…What does a shin have to do with anything?”

Raphael shook with laughter, more so when Nia’s face reddened.  “Shin’s the Bushido teachin’ ‘a honesty.” 

“Oh.”

“It means ya tell the truth, no matter what.  Deal?”

“Deal.  But the same applies to you, right?”  If his wide, pressed mouth were an indicator, Nia would guess the ninja dreaded equal ground.

Even so, he nodded.  “Who goes first?”

“You can.”

“Let’s see…”  Raphael tapped his chin then nodded once.  “What’s wit’ the art facts?  Like when ya met us for the first time?”

“Oh, I—I only do that when I’m scared or nervous,” Nia answered with a frown.  “G—guess it’s my coping mechanism.  Art’s the only thing I feel confident in, so maybe…my instinct is to comfort myself with it.”

“Does it work?”

The young woman flashed a weak smile.  “If anything, it keeps me sane.  Uh, speaking of fear, Mikey says you have Entomophobia.  I—is that true?  You don’t seem like a bug-fearer.”  Nia felt Raphael tense beside her.

“I don’t fear ‘em!” he shouted.  “I hate ’em.  There’s a difference.”

‘ _Somehow I doubt that_ ,’ Nia thought.  But she decided not to push the matter since the truth was clear.

“I can play dirty too, Shell-for-Brains,” Raphael muttered.  “Did ya know Mikey watched over ya for days before the fire?”

The artist blinked.  “He…what?”

“Said he had a gut feeling.”

“He—he’s never mentioned that.”

“Yeah.  He was a total stalker.”

“Um, I—I don’t know how I feel about that.”  Nia’s vision fell to her lap.  “I was saved because he was there, but…”

“What’d ya do so late at night anyways?”

“Tutoring.”

“At midnight?”

“I—I learn better during the night.”

“Thought ya told Mike ya weren’t in school.”

“I’m not, technically.  I’m finishing high school online and being tutored at Lyngavaer Medical Collage where…where Daddy worked.”

“Ya haven’t finished high school?”

Nia shook her head, grimacing at the shock in Raphael’s tone.  “I missed a lot of school from fifth grade through eighth grade, so I was held back.  I…have a hard time in general.  With Math especially.”

“Why’d ya miss so much?  Did it have something ta do wit’ that picture?”

The young woman gave a light chuckle.  “I—isn’t it my turn?”

The mutant scoffed, folding his arms.  “Fine.  But we’re gettin’ back ta that question.”

Despite his insistence, Nia withheld a frown, asking, “Is your favorite color red?”

“Ya’re askin’ ‘cuz ‘a this.”  The ninja pointed towards the weathered mask tied behind his wide head.  “Answer’s no.  My bandana’s red ‘cuz that’s the color Sensei assigned me.  I don’t got a favorite.  Black is cool, though.”

“I see…Uh, is pizza your only favorite food?”

“Nah.  I like cereal too.  Chocolate Chunk.  Next.”

“Wh—what do you do in your free time?  Like, for fun.”

“Train.  Or play video games.”

“Training must mean a lot to your family, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Why is that?  I—I mean, why did Mister Splinter start training you brothers?”

Raphael shrugged, glancing towards the hazy sky.  “For discipline maybe?  Give us a hobby?  Can’t say; never asked.  Although…he could’ve done it in honor ‘a his master, like we keep Yoshi’s memory alive that way.  Or somethin’.  I—I don’t know.  Maybe that reason sounds stupid.”

“I don’t think so.”  Nia managed a small yet honest smile.  “Teachings are perfect memorials, particularly when it comes to...to family.  I—I know I’ll pass down the things I learned from my parents to my children.”

Silent, Raphael stared at the night horizon then shifted.  “That was question number five.  Ya get one more.”

“But I—I don’t know what to ask next.”

“Then I’ll go.”

“But—“

“Why’d ya miss so much school?”

Nia sighed until her shoulders slumped.  “Sick days,” she answered.  Really, she had no desire to explain further.  Raphael’s pointed look, however, saw that she did.  “I—I’ve suffered from chronic headaches for years.  Some days, I—I couldn’t even leave bed.  It feels like I was better acquainted with doctors then I ever was with classmates.  I hated it.”

“Explains yer cheery expression in the photo.”

Nia frowned at the ninja’s sarcasm.  “The only good times back then were when I’d paint.  The pain was always less noticeable then.”

“No way is that the only highlight in yer childhood,” Raphael said, jaw tense.  “Seriously, what oddah good memories ya got?  EvenI have more than one, an’ I grew up in a sewer.”

“I—I’m being honest, as promised.  All I did as a kid is art.  It was…my sanctuary.  I never took to playing outside or hanging with others, so I didn’t make many friends.  Then when Mama grew too busy with her job, I began spending more and more time alone.”

“Sounds borin’.”

Nia shrugged, though the mutant’s statement stung.  “I adapted.”

“How?  That would drive me insane.  My bros may be Shell-for-Brains, but I can’t imagine growin’ up wit’out ‘em.  My childhood would’ve been dull as hell.”

“Dull?”  A lopsided smile replaced Nia’s frown.  “I bet you four kept each other busy, huh?  What good memories do you have?”

“Plenty.  Where would I even start?”

“With Mikey?  O—oh, no.  Mister Leonardo.”

“Ya want a good memory wit’ Leo?”

Nia nodded firmly and allowed her smile to grow.

Raphael raised his eye ridges, yet didn’t shy away when the artist scooted closer.  “Uh…”

“You just said you had plenty.”

“I know!  Damn, woman.  Give me a minute.”

Nia did as asked, save for a slight squirm.  She eyed her escort as he racked his brain for the right memory, which he celebrated with a snap of his thick fingers.

“Alright,” he started.  “So.  Mike’s always been a goof.  He was worse as a kid.  I tell ya: everyone’s still hyper alert when it comes ta April Fool’s Day.  Anyways, one year, when we were about, uh, eight, I convinced Leo ta help me get payback.”

“Y—you mean Mister Leonardo agreed?”  Nia questioned.   “Oh, uh, no offense.  It’s just that h—he seems like he would’ve been a very…serious child.”

 “He was.  Mostly.  But he had his moments.  He was a kid too.”

“Y—Yes.  Of course.  So, what was the prank?”

“We made Mikey watch a scary movie called Thinman.”

“I’ve heard about that.  It’s an Eighties horror, right?”

Raphael nodded.  “Sensei forbade it.  So we watched it behind his back.”

“What good sons,” said Nia giggling.

“Mikey was so freaked, he couldn’t sleep.  Then again, the fact that Leo ‘n I would dress up as the villain didn’t help.  We let him spot us then disappeared in the shadows.  An’ told him it was all in his head.”

“Poor Michelangelo.  He must’ve been so frightened.”

“He was!  When April Fools came around, Mikey resorted ta his pranks for comfort.  But Leo ‘n I were gone.  Donny joined our cause too, so we added a little drama by killin’ him off.”

“Yo—you faked his death?”

“Yup.  An’ at the big reveal we recorded Mike’s girly scream, which Don edited inta a remix.  It may still be on our DVD shelf.”

Nia found herself laughing alongside Raphael.  “T—that’s so mean.”

“Says the only child,” Raphael retorted.  “If ya had siblings, ya’d call it justice.”

“I—I guess I’m at a disadvantage when it comes to understanding brothers ‘n sisters.  Or others in general.”

“Ya understand Mikey, so I wouldn’t say yer inept.”  Raphael flashed a smirk, cutting off his laughter with a click of his tongue.

Nia caught herself studying his bright eyes.  Though focused ahead, she could’ve sworn she sensed jealousy behind them.

‘ _Must be my imagination.  But…now he’s silent.  Should I change the subject?_ ’

“It’s, um, your turn again, Mister Raphael.”

“Just Raphael,” the mutant corrected.

“S—sorry, Raphael.”

“Don’t apologize.”  The ninja cracked his neck then drew a hand to it, rubbing it.  “I’m just—never mind.  Why do ya dress like that?”

“Huh?”  The artist glanced down.  “I—Is something wrong?”

“Well, seein’ as how April ‘n ya disguised yerselves ta go shoppin’, it’s only been recently that we’ve seen yer…style.  It’s something.  Especially wit’ those tights.”

Nia’s gaze lingered on herself, not understanding what Raphael had meant.  She’d dressed down, given current circumstances.

She stuck to a pair of dark-washed jean shorts, and refrained from excessive jewelry like plastic rings, thick bracelets, or studded belts.  Her white ‘NEW YORK’ top was hardly strange, though it did hang off one shoulder from being a size too wide.  Was it the pink fishnet she wore beneath it that warranted a ‘something’?  Certainly not; many women in New York wore fishnet.

Nia’s eyes wandered from her blue Converse to her black and white tights.  Tights were rather warm during the summer, but this pair was footless and thin.  What was strange about them?

“I like tights,” Nia said.  “They made me feel…secure as a kid.  Guess I never grew out of them.”

“But ya gotta be roastin’.  What series is that anyway?”

“S—Silver Sentry.  The pictures are scans from his on-going series.”

“What on-goin’ series?”  Raphael’s eye ridges knit together.  “I thought after he retired last year all his merchandise was supposed ta fade out.  It’s what he wanted.  Least that’s what he said last Christmas.”

“Wait.  You have Christmas with the Silver Sentry?”

“Sometimes.  Why?  Are ya a fan?”

Nia realized she begun bouncing with excitement only when Raphael sent an amused grin.  She immediately drew back from the space she’d never meant to close between them and after a breath, collected herself.

“Y—Yes.  I can’t believe Michelangelo hasn’t said anything.  Sentry was my favorite hero when I was younger, next to Madam Vermillion.”  At Raphael’s inquisitive stare, Nia continued.  “S—she was a non-power hero in Italy from the early nineteen-seventies to nineteen-nineties.  Her primary weapon was a braided whip, and...and she always sought the good in others, even villains.”

“Wit’ a whip?”

Nia chuckled lightly.  “She had a strict discipline and morals, yet was all optimism on the inside.”

“Sounds like a hero Mikey would like.”

“Actually, h—he does.  We’ve talked about her.”

“Yet anoddah thing ya’ll got in common.”

“E—excuse me?”

“Nothing.  We’ve gotten off track.  It’s yer turn.”

Nia offered the mutant a hesitant nod, although part of her longed to know why Raphael looked so defeated.  “Why do you call Mister Leonardo ‘Fearless’?  Is it a nickname he earned?”

“Not exactly,” the ninja answered.  “Leo ‘n I fought a lot as teens.  He was chosen as head ‘a our clan an’ I—”

“Was jealous.”

Raphael huffed.  “I couldn’t stand his self-righteousness or bein’ bossed around.  His attitude still bugs me, honestly, but at least it’s gotten better.  I started callin’ him ‘Fearless’ ta mock him.  It’s a nickname now, though.  He don’t mind it anymore.”

“Or maybe he’s learned to pick his battles,” Nia grumbled.  She felt eyes boring into her, yet kept her attention adverted as Raphael continued.

“Either way, he don’t say anything.  What number was that?”

“Number?”

“Question.”

“O—oh.  Um…”

“If ya don’t know, I say it’s my go.”

“Huh?”

“Why do ya call everyone Mister or Misses?”

“D—does it bother you?”

“Haven’t we been tellin’ ya ta stop?”

“S—sorry.  It’s something Daddy beat into me.  By now it’s second nature and changing’s…difficult.”

“I can understand parents wantin’ courteous children, but ya take it ta the extreme.”

“I said my father beat it into me, okay?”

“…Literally?”

“Wh—what?  No!  My father would never lay a hand on me like that.”  The artist sighed.  “Daddy used to mingle with a lot of high-class associates.  I attended parties and conventions when I was young.  Manners are everything to people of that status.  That’s what he told me.  So I always made sure to keep on my best behavior.”

Raphael hummed.

“I—it’s not as bad it sounds.”

“It sounds pretty bad.”

“Yeah, well…the manners made me feel like an adult.  I liked that.”

“Ta each their own.  Yer turn.”

“Oh…”  Nia trailed off in thought.

She hadn’t anticipated running out of questions.  Well, not run out, per say.  More like she had plenty to ask, and not enough decisiveness to pick one.  She’d gone with simple, generic inquiries, but now that she had a chance, she gravitated towards a topic perhaps best left untouched.

“So,” she started, “h—have you ever had a…crush?”

Raphael twitched, mumbled, and then scoffed.  “Choose another question,” he spat.

“I’d rather not.”  Nia spoke without thought or delay, yet kept a meek tone.  “Remember: any question is fair game and you must answer truthfully.  If you want to same in return.”

The last part Nia whispered.  Her eyes wandered to the waning moon before they found the mutant again.  He sighed, unease riddling his muscular body.  Still, when his gaze met hers, she knew he’d give in.

“Payback’s a bitch, by the way,” he said through gritted teeth.  “My bros ‘n I have had a crush on April at least once in our lives.  She was the first girl we ever met.  After her, I, uh…I liked another human friend, Angel.”

“Pretty name,” added Nia, though her remark went ignored.

“We started datin’ two years ago.  It didn’t work out.  An’ not for the reason ya think.”

The artist shrunk under Raphael scowl.  “W—what reason is that?”

“Don’t play dumb.  Ya’d be lyin’ if ya said the question hadn’t crossed ya mind.  How does a human and a mutant have a relationship?”

“I—I wasn’t—“

Raphael cut her off.  “For the record, we broke up for oddah reasons.”

Nia pulled her legs up, hugging them.  Raphael obviously felt offended by the topic, yet didn’t change it.  Did that mean he wanted to talk?

“Which reasons were those?” Nia asked.  “Were you too different?”

“Too similar,” the ninja corrected.  “We were always arguin’, even over the smallest things.  An’ since we’re both super stubborn, neither ‘a us caved.”

“I’ve read stories where a challenging relationship like that has appeal for those involved.”

“It had appeal.  At first.  An’ makin’ up after the arguments made everything worth it.”  Just soon as a smirk worked its way across Raphael’s wide mouth, it faltered.  “But then our fightin’ became constant.  We didn’t even try ta fix things ‘cuz we made ‘em worse.  Eventually, I got tired of it.  We both did.”

“Do you…do you still love her?”  Nia’s shoulder flinched under Raphael’s glare.

“My turn for questions.”

The artist could only sigh in submission.

“What about ya?  Got any crushes?”

If Nia knew any better, she’d say Raphael’s grin was more snide than interested.  “I’ve had a few,” she said stiffly.  “I could never bring myself to pursue any feelings, though.  I—it’s not my nature.  But Nick Nolan…He’s probably the only one outside my family to know me.  I don’t think he realizes what that means.”

“Who’s Nick Nolan?”

“M—my tutor.”

“Ya like him?”

“W—what kind of a question is that?”

“Told ya payback’s a bitch.  Now answer.”

“Yeah, b—but…”

‘ _Shin, Nia.  If you want to be friends, be honest._ ’ 

The artist groaned, saying, “Maybe I do, ya know, like him.”

“Cliché.”

“Hey!”  Nia bellowed before she could filter her words or temper her tone.  “After all these years I’ve grown into a shadow, a recluse, so Nick’s attention has been—been wonderful.  What person doesn’t want that?  T—to feel acknowledged?  To share things with?  I bet Angel was the first woman to have a romantic interest in you, wasn’t she?”

Bull’s eye.  Raphael’s expression faltered then hardened like stone.  He stood up in haste—abandoning both his seat and companion—then began walking away.

‘ _Way to go, Nia._ ’  The young woman slid off the ledge.  ‘ _This is why you keep quiet._ ’

Sighing, she tagged behind Raphael to the building’s fire escape.  She expected him to descend without a word or second glance, but he stopped short of doing just that.

“It’s different for me,” he said, low.  “Ya use the shadows like a shield, while I am the shadows.  When ya’re like me, a mutant”—his large fists clenched—“chances for good things are rare.  My bros n’ I have come ta grips wit’ the idea ‘a only havin’ eachoddah, t’at what we got now is as good as our lives will get.  Be thankful ya got a chance for something more.”

“R—Raphael, I—“

“Stop talkin’.”

“But—“

Ring!  Ring!

“I—Is that your phone?”

Raphael didn’t answer Nia.  He simply detached a cell phone shaped like a turtle shell from the leather pouch on his belt.  He flipped it open then lifted it to his ear.

“What?” the ninja demanded.  “No, I haven’t.  Why?”  He paused then cursed.  “Ya gotta be kiddin’! …Alright, we’re on our way back.”  When he snapped his cell shut, he did so with unreasonable force.  Again, he cursed, stomping the roof.  “An’ our Turtle Luck gets better ‘n better!”

“W—what’s wrong?”  Nia took a step forward, yet froze at the worry etched in Raphael’s expression.  “Did something happen?”

“Yeah,” he answered.  “April’s missin’.”


	22. Soul

 

* * *

 **D** amien Hanson downed another shot of Vodka.  It was his tenth.  Or seventh.  Maybe thirteenth.  Who cared?  The one thing he knew was that drunkenness had saturated his senses.  And that had been his intent from the moment he entered Mashers Bar.

“Want another, Handsome?” a female bartender asked.  Curls of blonde hair fell over her bare shoulders as she leaned forward, a smirk across her painted lips.

“You’ve had enough, D,” Damien’s company added.  A hand then shooed away the bartender, whose nose scrunched before she felt.

“You ain’t my mother, Jez,” said Damien.  His mind could still function, yet it seemed his lips were slow to catch up.

“I’m here to talk, not watch you drink yourself silly,” Jezebel Summers spat.  Today, the Dominican-American had dressed in a sleeveless top/skinny jean combo, and the man’s eyes lingered on her generous curves as her arms crossed.

“You never had a problem with my drinking back in the old days,” Damien told her.  He grinned, although the smile likely hung lopsided on his face.

Jezebel didn’t roll her green eyes like usual.  Rather, her face relaxed with a hit of melancholy that forced Damien’s attention on his empty shot glass.

“Those ‘old days’ are gone,” Jez said.  “I’m straight now, attending law school.  The work is hard, but worth it.  Besides, those drinks always led to something more.”

For a moment, Damien’s mind flooded with memories of being sixteen and very eager to please his lover.  “I don’t recall you ever complaining.”

“I have nothing to complain about in those regards.”

“But you have complaints in other regards?”

“You must too, Damien, if you’re in a bar.”

The African-American sighed then rubbed his buzzing temple.

Jezebel stared—not with discrimination, but with worry for her long-time boyfriend.  “Why’d you call?”

“I just…needed you.”  Damien kept focused on his shot glass, only moving when Jez touched his large hands.

“But why?” she asked.  “I know you, D.  What happened?”

‘ _I forgot how much drinking enhances her persuasion…or maybe it just weakens my guard._ ’

“Damien?”

The man snapped into awareness again, asking, “Yes?”

“What happened?”  Irritation had replaced the woman’s softness, which felt more natural to a stone-faced Damien.

“We’ve moved into the kidnapping business,” he answered.  Maybe his casualness is what made Jezebel pause for so long.

“Explain,” she said.

“Two weeks ago Hun made a deal with some guy who calls himself Der Grobmann.  He wants us to find some chick.  Got no idea why, but the PD that fulfills the bounty will be granted several royalties.”

The Dominican-American retracted her hands to send Damien a glare that would’ve left any other gangster unnerved.  “So you’re gunna hand over a girl?   No questions asked?”

“You know if Hun wants it done, it’s done—with or without my help.”

“No; you know better.  This is a girl’s life, D, not a block of Cocaine.”

“Why the surprise?” Damien asked with a brusque scoff.  “We’re the top gang in New York, next to the Forty-Fours.  We steal, mug, rape, and murder.  Is kidnapping that far off?” 

Jez’s response:  a snarled expression and raised voice.  “You’re missing the point!”

“What point?”

“You’ll do something about it, right?”

“I can’t do anything.”

“Right; I forgot what an obedient little dog you are.”

“Enough, Jezebel!  Damn.”  Damien shook his head, which spun.  “Look, I called so we could talk about this civilly.”

“Damien—you—ugh!”  Inhaling through her nostrils, Jezebel groaned.  Damien watched the woman close then reopen her eyes with a newfound temperance he’d never witnessed before.

‘ _Funny.  Whatever happened to hitting me upside the head?_ ’

“Well,” Jez grumbled, “that little bounty explains why those punks scoped us out.”

“What punks?” Damien asked.  A dull pressure met his palm, and a glance at the counter confirmed that the man clenched his fist.

“Last week, Mir and I were walking home.  Three PDs cornered us in a parking lot.  Kept insisting Miriam was someone named Nia Anders.”

“Nia Anders is who Der Grobmann wants.”

“Lovely.  Anyways, no matter how many times I told them they were wrong, they didn’t let up.  Idiots must be newbies because none of them recognized me.”

Damien nodded, amusement at Jez’s scowl tugging up the corners of his lips.  “Most PDs still do, though, Dragonspot.“

“Don’t call me that,” the woman snapped.  “You may cling to your codename, but I’ve thrown mine away, Bones.”

Her last word was hissed like acid on her tongue, so gangster thought it best to veer back on tract.  “Murray Hill is mid East Side territory.  Uneventful.”

“Meaning: they were newbies.”

“Probably.  We’ve taken in a few recruits that need refining.  Uh, did you…fight them?”  Damien asked this carefully while eyeing his girlfriend.

“Of course not!” she cried.

“Seriously?  How come?”

“You know why.  Not only that, but…Mir was there.”

“Still scared she’ll see what you’re capable of?”

“No, I—maybe.  I just want to protect her.  Damien”—Jezebel drew her wounded gaze back to her boyfriend much like a timid child—“you and I entered the PD life early.  We saw things children should never see and did things even decent adults wouldn’t do.  In my naïve mind, I thought that was my worth.  My family proved to me otherwise.  I just don’t want her opinion of me to change.”

“Miriam could never think lowly of you, Jez.  I mean; you two are still talking even after your, uh, accident, right?”  Damien frowned when Jez’s attention adverted to the shellacked counter.  “You haven’t told her?”

“She knows something bad happened.”

“Nothing more?”

“As far as she’s concerned, it was simply my turning point.”

“But you’re lying.”

“Not entirely.”

Damien hummed agreement, though did so without belief.  He heaved then recaptured his lover’s hands, running a thumb over her scarred knuckles.  “You should’ve fought,” he said.  “Whatever promise you made, you should’ve defended yourself.”

“I couldn’t,” Jezebel whispered.  “One had a gun.  Had I charged, I would’ve been shot.  Trust me; if they had been armed with pipes and bats instead, things would’ve gone differently.”

“How’d you get away?”  In his grip, Damien felt the Dominican-American tense.

“We were…saved.”

“By who?”

Jezebel paused, mouth agape until her green eyes met her boyfriend.  “A turtle saved us,” she whispered.  “I think he was a Phantom.”

“You talking about one of those green-costumed freaks that stop us every chance they get?”

“It—it’s no costume, D.”

A half-hearted chuckle left Damien; however, Jezebel’s expression squashed his diminutive humor under its gravity. “You’re not joking.”

“No.”

“Shit…”  The buzz in Damien’s head increased.  It left him lightheaded as Jezebel brushed his cheek.  “How?” he asked.  “How is that possible?”

“I don’t know,” Jez replied.  “But he got injured, so Mir and I brought him home.”

“I—is he still there?” 

The woman took back her hand then shook her head.  “Other turtles—brothers, I think—picked him up.”

Damien had to rest his head in his hands to keep another dizzy spell at bay.  This couldn’t be real.  Live monsters?  In New York City?  When’d the conversation take such a turn?

‘ _Maybe I should’ve stayed at HQ after all…_ ’ 

Jezebel regained her boyfriend’s attention by touching his bicep. “I know how you must feel,” she said.  “PDs hate them on principle.  That doesn’t mean you have to.  He protected us, D, so please keep this information between us.  And if you come across the one in orange, don’t hurt him.”

“I—I can’t promise that, Jez.  What am I supposed to do?  Play stupid?  Let them interfere?  Hun doesn’t exactly reward imbeciles.”

“Then don’t answer to Hun.  Answer to yourself.”

“Not this again.”  Groaning, Damien rolled he eyes.  He found an odd sense of comfort in his headache, like a physical reminder.  Maybe he wouldn’t remember this conversation later.

“You have a soul, Damien.”  Better judgment warned Damien to keep his head down.  Even so, Jezebel’s voice lured him, and her eyes held him under a spell as she spoke.  “Being born into crime doesn’t make you a criminal by default.  You aren’t a killer or a rapist.  You’re a thief, at most.  I know you feel like you’re someone who’s fallen so many times that—that he doesn’t see a point in getting back up.  I’ve felt that way, too.”

“And next you’re gunna tell me it doesn’t have to be that way.  Yadda, yadda, yadda.  Look.  It won’t happen, alright?  I love you, but there isn’t anyone in this city that’d be willing to give me a fifth shot.  The only reason you’ve gotten so far is because of family ties, so lay off!” 

Jezebel remained silent and listless—a sure-sign her lover had crossed a line he never should’ve touched.  He blamed the Vodka.

“Forgive me for wanting a better life for you, Damien.”  While soft, her tone held underlying annoyance, hurt, and frustration.  She slid from her bar stool then requested a check.

“Come on, Jez.  I’m sorry.”

The Dominican-American held up a hand.  When the blonde bartender handed over the bill, Jez dug into her back pocket for cash.  “You’re right,” she said while counting bills.  “I wouldn’t be in law school without Mami.  She was a good woman and helped me, no matter how stupid I acted.  I hoped I could be the same strength for you, but…guess you don’t care.”

“I didn’t mean—“

“Save it.”  Jezebel flashed a glare then collected her change.  She stopped two strides from the bar, speaking over her shoulder.  “If you don’t contact the police, I will.  Contrary to your subordinate complex, I can’t let someone get kidnapped.  It isn’t right or fair.  You know as much.  You just choose to ignore the obvious.”

Jez wanted to say more, Damien could tell.  Instead, she stormed out the main entrance, growling.  Glossy eyes watched her through Mashers’ front windows then fell to the countertop when she disappeared from sight.

‘ _Great,_ ’ Damien thought.  ‘ _I managed to piss off the only person who doesn’t consider me dirt.  But she knows how much I hate being prodded at. Falling back into the life seems like destiny.  Why fight it?_ ’

Still, a smaller part of the gangster knew his girlfriend was right.  If at all possible, Damien avoided violence.  He found no pleasure in cruelty and hated the scent of blood.  Most maliciousness had to be fudged on his part because he lacked drive when it came down to harming another.

‘ _I’ve always had a conscience.  What an annoying little bastard._ ’

But what could be done?  After years in the thug life, he could only bury his just principles.  Killing it was an impossible feat.

‘ _Der Grobmann says he doesn’t want the girl harmed, but he could be saving the privilege.  He could be a serial killer or involved in human trafficking.  People do sick stuff.  I can’t...support that._ ’

“Damn woman,” Damien muttered.  “Why do you make me think?”

“Everything alright, Handsome?”  The bartender was back with a strange look.

“I’m fine,” Damien countered.  “Got a lot on my mind.”

The blonde giggled, soft and charming, though the action hardly earned the man’s interest.  “It seems the alcohol hasn’t worked its magic yet.  Perhaps you need another shot.”

Damien shook his head and immediately regretted doing so.  Once the world tilted back into focus, he spoke, low.  “Just call a cab.  I’m ready to get the hell out of here.”

“If that’s what you want.”

A jolt ran through the African-American as a hard-line phone dropped in front of his face like an anchor.  The blonde countered his glare with a snide smile then sauntered to another customer, as if taunting his discussion.

‘ _It would’ve been more entertaining if she’d done that while Jez was here.  A good catfight always lifts my spirits._ ’ 

With a light snort, Damien picked up the phone’s receiver then hailed a cab service.

### ━❖━

During the trip to his apartment, Damien slept.  Apparently.  One moment neon lights were passing by like a hypnotic lullaby, the next his window framed a sketchy neighborhood he’d been calling home since birth.

The cab rolled to a stop before an apartment complex called ‘New York’s Pisa’ by locals.  Damien thought he heard the driver comment about it being lucky enough to still stand, but he was too tired to care.  He paid the fare then stumbled out the back door.  No sooner did he hit the cracked sidewalk did the cab to take off, wheels squealing in its wake.

‘ _I didn’t even close the door.  What’s got him so scared?_ ’ 

Damien stood, steadying himself against a narrow staircase that led into Pisa.  As he situated himself on a step, he caught a glimpse of a symbol painted across the front door.  The color alone cleared his vague curiosity. 

‘ _Am I so drunk that I forgot my lifestyle is marked everywhere around here?  That driver was right to run before my neighbors swarmed his car for parts!_ ’ 

Damien laughed at the thought—honestly laughed.  And he continued to laugh until someone approached.  Had the street lamp’s light not been blocked, he probably would’ve laughed himself asleep on the stairs.

“Yo, got a question for ya,” the stranger said.

Damien squinted for focus.  The man ahead could be described as prime Purple Dragon material.  Black bangs fell to his square chin with the rest pulled into a ponytail.  He decorated his barrel of a chest with a leather jacket and sported dark-wash jeans on his long legs.  It seemed only his sneakers held a trace of decent condition.

‘ _What’s a norm doing in these parts?_ ’

“What kind of question?”  Surprisingly, the words left Damien’s lips without a slur.

“I’m lookin’ for a woman,” the man said in a thick Brooklyn accent.

“If you hadn’t noticed, I’m not the best substitute.”  Damien glared, although he found amusement in how the stranger’s tan face flushed.

“I ain’t that type ‘a guy!”

“Whatever.”

“Seriously.  Listen.  She’s around five-seven wit’ green eyes an’ red hair.  She’s got a great body, fair skin.  Ring any bells?”

“Nope.”

“Ya sure?”

“Look, I’m sorry you lost your girlfriend, but I haven’t seen anyone like that.”

The stranger cursed then spun on a heel to continue his travels down the sidewalk without as much as a ‘thanks’. 

‘W _hatever happened to manners?_ ’ 

Damien tsked, but wasn’t offended.  Growing up with Purple Dragons left no room for standard etiquette, after all.  He brushed off the encounter, stood on shaky legs, and then ascended the staircase.  The steps squeaked under his weight, yet held firm like they had for the last twenty-four years.  Security in the building had always been lax, so there was no need for him to check in or confirm his identity.  Instead, he rounded the first corner of the main hall then entered whichever elevator deemed itself available.

A soft ‘ding’ alerted him to his destination, the seventh floor.  His Nike’s made no sound against the carpeted pathway, although a loud tone from his pocket rendered any attempt at stealth mute.  Damien dug in all four pockets of his jeans before a cell-phone was found. 

‘ _How long have I had this?_ ’

“Hello?” he answered hesitantly.

“Bones, you won’t believe this!”

“Rojo?”

“Yeah, Baboso.”  Rojo huffed over the line.  “No one else calls you.  Bet you forgot you even had a phone, didn’t you?”

Damien could imagine his partner’s cold eyes rolling and frowned.  “Make this quick; I’m not in a good mood.”

“Whatever.  Hun’s retracted the Nia Anders search.”

“Oh?  Why?”

Rojo scoffed as Damien walked forward again.  “Hun uncovered Der Grobmann’s identity.  Apparently, he’s some has-been surgeon named Charles Kingston.”

“And that means…?”  Though Rojo couldn’t see it, Damien quirked an eyebrow.

“He’s a fallen man, Bones.  At rock-bottom with little to spare for himself, let alone the PDs.  He paid part of the deal in cash, but when Hun demanded more, Kingston refused.  Boss thinks he doesn’t have any more money.  And you know how he feels about being swindled.”

“So Hun wants him dead?” Damien’s stomach churned when Rojo chuckled.

“We got new orders.  Track Kingston then plunder him for all he’s worth, what little that may be.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“You, me, Little Spice, and a new guy, Hunt.”

“Hun’s letting a  _newbie_  on this mission?”

“You sound as surprised as I was.  But Hunt’s proved what he can do.  Little Spice and I saw to it.”

“If you say so.”

“Little Spice was actually impressed,” added Rojo, near laughter.  “You know how rare that is.”

“Well, she had a difficult teacher.”

“True.  Too bad Dragonspot isn’t in the picture anymore, huh?  Her A-game was something to be admired. ”

“Shut up!  We aren’t talking about her.”

“You mentioned her.  Maldita.  You drunk?”

“Is that all, Rojo?”  The African-American kept his words cool and curt.  Finally, he arrived at a marred door labeled ‘22G’.

“More or less.  Where are you?”

“At my apartment.  Why?”

“Hun wants us to start ASAP.”

The key had just unlocked the door when Damien whimpered.  “Start searching without me because I ain’t doing anything tonight.”  Pushing his door open, the man fumbled into the darkness, not bothering with a light when he closed the entrance.  He knew where to couch was.

“Bones,” Rojo started.

“I know.  You wanna look good to take Dragonface’s position.”  A strong yawn prevented Damien from speaking any further while Rojo snarled over the line.

“Don’t mock me!”

“Relax.”  The gangster sunk into the comfort of his cloth couch then released a content sigh.

“You’re really going to sleep?”

“Yup.”

“Next time I see you, I’m kicking your ass.”

“Whatever.”

Damien wasn’t sure how the phone call ended.  His eyes shut then not long after Rojo’s rants grew silent.


	23. Desperation

 

* * *

 **B** efore Charles—curled against the dirt of his unfinished cellar—laid a redhead.  Ropes bounded her arms and legs, and despite the man’s attempts at peace, she had refused his offers.  How troublesome.  Her determination matched that of reinforced iron laced with diamonds—impregnable.  It was obvious such a will wouldn’t corrode without drastic means.

Charles sighed, sickened by the current situation.  In his desperation he’d taken April O’Neil.  Now, in that same desperation, he kept her.

 ‘ _I wish no ill-will, yet Olivia is running out of time.  If I must…I may need to do something despicable.  Liv is counting on me.  Ah!_ ‘

“Guten abend, O’Neil,” Charles told the stirring redhead. 

April groaned, twisting.  Her hair had long-since come undone from its up-do, and its strands entangled her pale face when she looked up.  Charles watched as her brows furrowed, rose, and then lowered.

“Why am I still her?” she asked.

“You know vhy.”  Charles left his chair to aid April, except she would have nothing of it.

“Don’t touch me,” she spat while kicking.

“I’m trying to help,” said Charles with a frown.  Still, he retracted his hands.

“Says the kidnapper to the kidnapped.”

“Please, O’Neil.  Understand.  You forced me into zis decision.”

“I what?”

Charles reclaimed his chair with a long sigh.  Only his inner gentlemen convinced him to send his captive a sympathetic smile.  “I gave you a chance, weeks ago, but you rejected my offer.”

“No shit!”  April scoffed then coughed.  “What sane person hands over a kid to a shady character from the mall?  Honestly.  I thought you were smart.”

Charles’s lips pursed.  “You seemed like an excellent judge of character.  I assumed you vould detect my sincerity.”

“Sincerity is moot without sensible reasoning.  You should’ve told me who you were and what you wanted from the start.”

“It vas for your protection.”

“Funny way of looking at it.”

“It’s true.  Just in case any…investigation ensued, you could claim ignorance.”  His words must’ve sparked something, for April regarded the blonde with the most incredulous look he’d ever received.

“Are you talking about a NYPD investigation?” she asked.  “Or EPF investigation?”

Shock iced over Charles’s body, rendering him motionless until he could muster the will to shake his head.  “Yo—you know about zuh Earth Protection Force?”

“We’re acquainted.”

Charles stood to pace before April.  “How?”

“Let’s just say their leader’s been a thorn in my family’s side for a long time.”

“Family?”  Pausing, Charles faced the bound woman.  “Vut family of yours would cross pazs viz Agent Bishop?”

“The same one that’ll make you regret taking me.”

“And how vill zey find you?”

“They’ll find a way!” she cried, tugging at her restraints.  “They always do!”

Charles roared a German insult.  Before he knew it, he kneeled beside April and spoke darkly.  “You believe in your family like mine believes in me.  Zey’re zuh only reason I’m doing zis!”

“You’re not making any sense!” countered April.  “What do Nia and Bishop have to do with your family?”

“Everyzing!  Bishop gave me hope for Olivia ven he recruited me.  But his promises ver empty.  Miss Anders can help, and my EPF training will protect her.”

“You say that.  But if you asked me, you’re the one Nia needs protection from.”

The redhead’s scowl had no effect on Charles; he forced an impassive expression, which masked the enraged nerves that made him hot.  “You know little, Miss O’Neil.  Bishop and I ver zar, during zuh fire.  Believe me; albeit viz less obvious motivation, zat agent is moving his chess pieces in want of Miss Anders.”

“But why?  I—I—I don’t under—.”

“Bishop has been recruiting scientists for ‘a bigger plan’.  Ven Stockman mentioned Gavin Anders, Bishop checked and destroyed his records at Erudio Laboratories.  Ve came to him viz a job offer.  Everyzing went downhill from zar.”

“So you’re an ex-EPF member…”  With a deep breath, April recovered any lost oxygen then regarded the German with a collected stare.  “You and Bishop escaped the fire, along with Nia.  Does that mean you left her parents to die?”

“It vas more complicated zan zat!”  Teeth clenched, Charles stood, looming above April.  Fear struck her wide eyes when his arms swung, yet it didn’t bother the man as much as it should’ve.  “By zuh time I grabbed Nia, Bishop had already taken her parents.  He left men behind to fake zeir deaths.”

April retreated towards the cellar’s stone wall, whispering, “Ah—are you saying her parents are alive?”

“Onkel Charlie, why are you yelling?”  A voice quelled Charles, as if its sweet German words were magic.

The man spun towards the staircase that bridged the cellar to his house’s ground floor.  Standing bare-footed at its base was a young girl dressed in a pink nightgown.  Two braids of pale hair almost blended with her ghostly completion and she observed the duo with one dark eye.  Her other eye had been clouded by blindness years ago.

Charles scowled, though not because she’d seen him with April.  “Olivia, you should be in bed.”  Within several strides he reached the girl, and his heart wrenched when he guided her up two decaying steps.  He felt no muscle around her wrist, merely bone.

“But you were screaming,” continued Olivia in German.  “I was scared.  I thought you were yelling with Tante Maddie…about me.”

Charles leaned down to Olivia’s eye level with a warm smile.  “Why would you think such a thing?”

“Because I heard you the other day…”

“Did you?”  The tall man brushed aside what little bangs Olivia had left.  “Well, that’s not your worry.  Sometimes, Tante and I get angry.  But not at each other or you.”

“Really?”

“Promise.”

“Then you and Tante don’t feel bad about bringing me here after Mutti and Vati…?”

Charles chuckled.  “We would never regret such a thing.  We love you too much, Liv.  Just like your parents did.  Now, there’s no reason to worry.  You shouldn’t be up.  Having a broken leg wasn’t fun last time, was it?”

Olivia’s chapped lips puckered before she shook her head.

“Then let’s get you back under the covers.”

Slowly, the child nodded then glanced behind her uncle.  ”Who’s that lady?” she asked.  “And why is she tied up?”

Charles gathered his niece into his arms then faced April.  The redhead balled up, her mouth agape.  Good; maybe now she understood what life was at stake.

“This lady is going to help you,” Charles answered.  “Let’s not tell Tante Maddie about this.  Can we keep it secret?”

“Do I get a treat if I do?”

“Extortionist.  Fine.  A few candies.  Nothing more.  Deal?”

The blonde girl giggled and tightened her hold around her uncle’s neck.  How could he not smile at such affection?

“Pardon us, Miss O’Neil,” the man said in English.  “I’m must put zuh traveler back to bed.”  Charles then began his journey up the steps, and chuckled at the waving movement he felt behind him.

“Tschüss, Miss Lady!”

### ━❖━

Hugh sunk into a bench at Bryant Park.  Despite an hour of searching, the only things he earned were joint aches.  Ridiculous.  Surely a forty-four-year-old in his profession should be more capable.  Right?  Then again, it had been a while since he last slept…

“Hey, I found something!” a disembodied voice yelled.

“Coming!” Hugh yelled over his shoulder.

The man forced himself up then followed a dirt path towards who had hailed him.  His trip ended at some pruned shrubs, which created a barrier between him and a blonde figure beneath the canopy of mature Oak trees.

“What’d you find, Blaine?” he asked.

“A phone,” Officer Blaine Williams answered.  “Battery’s low, though.”

“What’s in the contacts?”

“Uh.”  Blaine’s fingers pushed a few buttons on the red device when Hugh cut through the dying foliage.  “Lots of names.  Last number dialed is someone named Casey.  Does the name ring a bell?”

Hugh met the blonde’s gaze with a frown.  “Think so.  Move.”

Pushing the younger man aside, Hugh ran his fingers along the ground.  ‘D _rag marks.  Wonder how far they go…_ ’

“Blaine.”

“Yeah?”

“Got a flashlight?”

“In the cruiser.  Where we should be.”

“We’ve finally found something and you want to leave?”  Hugh caught Blaine’s yawn.

“Yes,” replied the blonde.  “I’m your friend, Hugh, not your slave.  We can tape the area off.  Come back in a bit.”

“What if something happens?”

“My god, you’re paranoid.”  The officer’s tone told Hugh that he rolled his eyes.  “This is hardly a crime scene.  Taping it off will be enough for a few hours.  Come on.  My eyes are burning.”

The detective hesitated then sighed.  “You’re right.  Go home.  Jen will be pissed if I keep you any longer.”

“What about Rina?”

“See, that’s the difference; my wife expects me to be obsessive.  She knew what she was getting into when she said ‘I do’.  Now go.  Go.”

Blaine’s droopy eyes proved he was too exhausted for debate.  He simply muttered “Good luck” then exited the clearing, leaving his friend surrounded by a deserted park.

“Now, what do we have here?” Hugh asked himself.  He remained kneeled (if only because he didn’t trust his legs to support him) and scrolled through the phone’s features.

‘ _My number is listed multiple times in the received calls log.  This is definitely Miss O’Neil’s, which means…’_

April either lost it or someone snatched her from the park.  The latter seemed more likely, given their earlier talk and the state of the soil.  But who would take her?  Kingston?

“That man must be pretty desperate to stoop so low,” the detective grumbled.  “Or crazy.  How am I going to find her?”

“What are ya doin’ wit’ that phone?”

Hugh had little time to register a cry before something solid tackled him.  He hit the dry dirt with a hiss and subtle crunch inside his ribcage.  Experience told him two ribs had just been fractured, yet he bit through the pain when his opponent lifted himself.  Cringing, Hugh rolled then flipped to his feet—albeit stiffly.  He looked up.  Although the Oak leaves had begun to wilt, enough clung to their parents to hinder the attacker’s features within the filtered moonlight.  So, Hugh kept his distance.

“Who are you?” he questioned.

“Me?” the attacker spat.  “Worry about yerself, Man.  Now where’s April?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Why else would ya be looking for her phone?  Bet ya took her then returned ‘cuz ya were sloppy.  But guess what?  Yer mistake led us right ta ya!”

“Us?”

“Give her back!”

“I already told you, I don’t—“ 

Hugh’s protest fell on deaf ears; the attacker charged.  Instinct widened Hugh’s stance then drew his fingers to n occupied gun holster hanging at his hip.  What came next overwhelmed the man’s comprehension.  His weapon was knocked away by a staff before it could be poised, and he froze at the sensation of cold steel imprisoning his jugular.  Two weapons.  Meaning: two newcomers.  When Hugh’s wide eyes drifted ahead, he noted a third was present as well. 

‘ _Where the hell did they come from?_ ’

“Casey, stop being hasty,” said the being behind Hugh.  “Calm down.”

“I’ll calm down when that son of a—“

“Casey?” Hugh cut in.  “Wait.  Casey Jones?”

“How do ya know my name?” Casey hissed.  He fought off whatever restricted him in the darkest shadows then stepped forward.  Through into a breach of light, he regarded the detective behind icy eyes.

“We’ve met,” Hugh answered.  “Once.”

“Doubt that.”

“I know Miss O’Neil as well.”  The blades against Hugh’s neck twitched—just enough to lurch his stomach.  “I released Nia Anders to her care.  I’m Detective Hugh Reese.”

Almost immediately, recognition dawned on Casey, who cursed.

“Is that true?” a new, kinder, voice questioned.

“Yeah,” Casey answered.

“Leave it ta Casey ta body-slam the law,” a second gruff voice spat.

“Stuff it, Raph!” Casey snapped behind him.  “He looked suspicious.”

“Um, c—can I have my neck back, please?”  The detective released a slow sigh of relief when the steel retreated.  He then headed for his gun, flinching with every step.  Only, two shadows were quick to block him.

“You can have that back once we get some answers.”  The one who spoke had been the one with the blades.

“I’m an NYPD detective,” Hugh told him.  “Who are you to tell me when I can get my gun back?”

“We don’t mean any disrespect,” said the kind voice.

“If that’s true, then move.”

“I’m sorry.  That would be too risky.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s alright, Detective Reese,” added Casey.  “They won’t hurt ya.” 

Hugh whirled towards the large man, who flashed a hollow smile.  “Remind me, Mister Jones: which side had blades against my neck?”

“That was my bad.  They’re family.  They were just…”  Casey sighed.  “Protectin’ me.”

“What family hides themselves from cops?”  No; Hugh wouldn’t sit aside and let civilians handle the matter as if he were the one in need of investigation.  “Look, we can talk.  Just hand over my gun.”

“Can’t we talk wit’out it?”

“That’s not the point.”

“We understand.  But we got reasons to leave it be.”

Hugh glared.  “Listen.  If anyone deserves their weapon, it’s me.  Now I’m ordering you to move, or else I’ll arrest you for obstruction of justice!”

Neither figure twitched or spoke.  Hugh bit back a growl then decided.  He dodged to an open flank, intent on retrieving his gun.  In seconds, one figure grounded him with a whack from a staff.  The other kicked his firearm further away, into some shrubs.

The jarring motion set Hugh’s ribs ablaze.  But despite his breathlessness, he stood, his fingers gripping the biceps of his new opponent like Boa Constrictors.  While the texture beneath his palms felt strange, he kept his attention on tackling the fighter.

Which he did.  They rolled along the dirt—a lumpy action which seemed weirder than his opponent’s skin.  Then, with a powerful heave, Hugh kicked the other male into a concentrated flood of light.  That is when Hugh’s heart stopped.

There, laid a humanoid creature with yellow-green skin and a shell on his back.

“Don, are ya okay?” Casey cried.  A frozen Hugh watched the man rush to the creature named Don.

“I’m fine,” Don replied, holding his side.  “That guy’s kicks are no joke.”

Suddenly, Hugh found himself flat on his back, a blade at his throat and a strong pressure on his stomach.  Air left him again; this time in pain.

“Don’t _ever_ touch my bro like that again, ya hear me?”   The gruff one growled.

“Detective, I wish you hadn’t of done that,” said the cool voice.

Their words barely registered with Hugh.  The man’s reeling mind had already left him so far behind in thought that he no longer felt his body as his own.  He swore his consciousness slipped into another realm, leaving a husk to speak in his stead.

“What are you?”


	24. Priority

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a bit lengthy. :P

 

* * *

 **I** f Leonardo had lacked as much self-control as Casey, he would’ve beaten the hokey junkie into a pulp.  Thanks to him, the Hamatos had been seen.  Not only that, but they’d been seen by one of New York’s finest: a detective named Hugh Reese.

“Detective Reese?” Leonardo asked for what felt like the twentieth time.  Yet again, the man shook against an Oak tree’s trunk.  “Listen,” Leo added.  “My clan means you no harm.  We just need help.”

“You’re real,” Hugh whispered.  “I felt his skin, his muscles.  That’s not a suit.”

“Detective?”

“Turtles…”

Sighing, Leo ran a hand down his face.

 “An’ here I thought cops were strong-minded,” Raphael grumbled.

The Jonin spun towards the hothead, for a reprimand.  Before he could utter a sound, though, Hugh cut him off.

“I’m quite collected given the circumstances,” he spat.  “Thank you!”

Raph scoffed.  “Ya call this collected?  I’ve seen beddah reactions from kids.”

“Enough,” Leo interjected.  He ensured the sai master caught the severity in both his tone and eyes.  When Raph’s attention adverted, the Jonin continued.  “Detective Reese, I’m sorry Casey attacked.  He thought you’d taken our sister.”

“Sister?” questioned Hugh.  “I thought he mentioned Miss O’Neil.”

“He did.  April may not be blood-related, but”—Leo frowned—“we consider her family.  Like Casey.  So if you know anything that could help, please speak up.”

Hugh jerked his head sideways, gulping.  “You may know more than me.  To be honest, I’ve only investigating under the suspicion of many, many missed calls.”

“So,” Donatello started, tentative, “you’re out here because she never called you back?”

  The African-American straightened against the Oak trunk, saying, “I’ve been told I read too much into the small details.”

Leo sensed a budding ease within Hugh’s tone, which lent him enough confidence to clench a fist.  “What were you contacting her about?”

Hugh lifted two fingers towards his temple, yet just as soon stopped himself.  “We ran into each other at Rae’s Market yesterday.  Came here to talk further.  She told me what’s happening with Nia.”

“She did?”  There could be no denying Don’s surprise.

Hugh sent the purple-masked Chūnin a nod.  “She asked for help in investigating Charles Kingston.”

“Charles who?”

“Kingston.  He’s the German with an interest in Nia.”

“How do you know?”

“Miss O’Neil gave a description.  It matched a doctor I recognize from an old medical paper.  I’m sure I could dig it up for a positive ID.”

“Maybe.  Did she tell you about—“

“Don”—Leo met the genius’ gaze—“quiz him later.  April’s our current priority.”

Donatello took a step back, almost in shame.  “Right.  Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” added Leo.  “Now, Detective, do you have any other leads?”

 Hugh sighed.  “Just the phone.  Which Mister Jones about destroyed.”

“I ain’t the one ta blame!” Casey cried.  He took a powerful step forward then pointed at Hugh.  “Ya were lookin’ like a creeper!”

“I’m a detective,” Hugh replied flatly.  “It’s my job to creep.”

“Then why haven’t ya crept better an’ found April already?” 

Leo blanched as the dark-skinned man spread his thin arms, sneering.

“By all means, Mister Jones,” said Hugh, “if you can creep better, lead the way.”

“Don’t patronize me!”

“If you don’t want to be patronized, maybe you should respect the one with the badge.”

“He’s right,” Leo butted in, solemn.  When Casey glared, the Jonin stared him down until the buff man acknowledged the truth.  He backed away.

Leonardo stood to offer Hugh a three-fingered hand.  “I understand, Detective,” he said.  “Growing up, my brothers and I learned the value of Rei, respect.  I beg pardon on clan’s behalf, including myself.  We never meant to insult you with questions or by hindering you from your gun.  That said, I hope you understand our reasoning.”

“It’s pretty self-explanatory,” Hugh countered.  He accepted the Jonin’s offer, staggering to his feet with several winces.

“You okay, Detective?” Leo asked.

“Mister Jones just“—Hugh winced again—“fractured some ribs.”

“Way ta go, Head-Case.”

“Shut up, Raph.”

“Do you need to go to a hospital?”

The detective shook his head at Donatello.  “I can go after we find Miss O’Neil.”

“Are you sure?” Don pressed.

“Positive.”  With an awkward smile, Hugh neared the shrubs where his gun had been kicked.  After fishing the weapon out from some thorns, he slipped it back into its holster then faced the group.  “Don’t worry, I won’t shoot anybody.  The only person I’m even considering shooting is the man who took Miss O’Neil.”

“Kingston,” Casey added with a snarl.

“That uncertain,” said Don.  “It could be a start, though.”

“So what’s our next move, Brainiac?”

“Oh, now you wanna listen, Raph?”

“Spare me.  I’ve been listenin’.  Case ‘n I just didn’t see a reason why we needed a ten-step plan ta recover Ape’s phone.”

Don gave a bitter, brusque laugh.  “Hours of satellite interference set back our investigation almost a whole day.  It never occurred to you that someone didn’t want us to find her phone?  This could’ve been a trap!  Now look where thoughtlessness has landed us.”

“Casey tackled the cop!”

“We’re ninjas, not wrestlers.”

“In case ya’ll overlooked the memo:I ain’t a ninja!”

“Keep quiet, Casey!” Raphael sent his best friend a sour look before returning to Donatello.

Leonardo groaned in the wake of his brothers’ arguing voices as Hugh joined the Jonin.

“They fight like this often?” the detective questioned.

“Often enough,” Leo answered.  “Especially Casey and Raphael.  Donatello rarely joins in, but I know he’s been frustrated.  So…Hey, what’s funny?”  Leonardo narrowed his eyes at the sniggering detective.

“Sorry, sorry,” Hugh managed while clenching his ribs.  His body relaxed when he inhaled then exhaled a deep breath. “It’s just that—I don’t know.  My mind was telling me you were…aliens, creatures, _things_.  I got flashbacks to horror movies.  But, uh, watching this?  Reminds me of my youth.  My sister.  Suddenly, you don’t seem so alien.  Is that weird?”

A smile spread over Leo’s mouth.  “You’re asking that to a six-foot mutant turtle.”

Hugh smiled as well.  “Guess the answer’s ‘no’.”

“Oi, Fearless!” Raph cried.  “Ya wanna contribute or what?”

Leo huffed, crossing his arms as muffled singing silenced the group.  “I—Is that your phone?” he asked Hugh.

“Yes,” the man answered. 

Donny pushed past Raph and Casey, his voice strained with amusement.  “Is that Right Said Fred’s ‘I’m Too Sexy’?”

Hugh regarded the strange looks the Hamato clan sent with little response.  He produced a smart phone from his jacket’s breast pocket then swiped his finger across the screen to accept his call.

“Detective Hugh Reese,” he greeted.  “What can I—?  Damien?”  Within the short moment that Hugh paused, his eyes widened and the air caught in his throat.  “Y—you’re about to do what?”

### ━❖━

 “Ya sure this is the place, Rojo?  It looks rather…nice.”

“This is the address Hun gave us.  But if you have doubts, Little Spice, feel free to head back to HQ and fill out a complaint form.”

“Such cheekiness.  I hate that about ya, ya know?”

“Believe me, I know.”

Damien rolled eyes.  He hated whenever Rojo and Little Spice partnered up.  Deny as they may, the couple always formed their own world and exiled all other team members.  Even now—when the three gangsters were moments away from breaking and entering the Kingston household—they bounced inappropriate banter off one another. 

It was sickening.

“Get a room later,” Damien hissed.  “Our priority is our mission.  In case you forgot.”

“Yer such a wet blanket, Bony-Boy,” Little Spice cooed in her subtle Jersey accent.

Damien could feel her hot breath against his neck.  It smelled like Whiskey, and he had to shrug her weight off his arm so he wouldn’t gag.  “Go hang on your toy,” he spat.

The redhead pouted, though the impish glint behind her dark eyes defied any innocence she sought.  Not that her skin-tight outfit or Gothic styled make-up worked in her favor, anyway.  Damien had convinced himself years ago that the tan woman had looked devious since birth.

“Why be like that, Bones?”  Little Spice asked, words smothered by fake sweetness.  “I wish Hunt were here instead.  He’s more fun.”

“Yeah, what a pity,” Damien countered.  “Not my fault he got reassigned.  Take that up with Hun.”

“Ya should really loosen up, ya know?”

Damien jerked his head away from the hand Little Spice ran down his cheek.  He frowned under her cackle then watched as she maneuvered up the beaten lattice on the house’s darkest side.  ‘ _The face and body of Venus with the Wicked Witch’s charm.  How fitting._ ’

 “Don’t look so glum, Bones.”

Damien glared more so at Rojo’s smirk than the smack he received on his back.  “She’s drunk, Livino.”

“So she’s had a few drinks.”

“I’m not comfortable with her carrying a gun.”

“Relax.  Hun personally picked us for this gig.”

“That doesn’t make Amanda any less drunk.”

“She’s tipsy.”

“With a gun!”   An exasperated scoff left Rojo, and Damien fought his urge to punch the Mexican.

“Damn, Dude!” cried Rojo.  “First, stick to our codenames.  Second, we all got guns.  I swear: talking with that damned cop has killed any sense of adventure you ever had.”

Damien steered his head away from incriminating brown eyes, asking,” What cop?”

“Right.  Like I don’t know.”

“Let’s just get this over with.”  Damien passed the Hispanic, following Little Spice’s lead. 

 The yard’s overgrowth was hard to avoid.  But despite an absence of light from the near-new-moon and Ivy tendrils, the gangster managed to avoid any big disasters.  He sighed when his fingers gripped the lattice and forced himself to look up.  From the second story balcony, whose stone railing she now straddled, Little Spice flashed a Cheshire grin that turned Damien’s stomach.

‘ _Great,_ ’ he thought, climbing.  ‘ _She’s gunna shoot me, I know it._ ’

### ━❖━

Casey’s head up snapped up, but after a cursory glance, he re-settled into the knowledge that he rode shotgun in Detective Reese’s police cruiser.

“Ya say something?” he asked the driver.

“I asked how you’re holding up,” Hugh replied.

“Oh.  Peachy.”  Casey drew his gaze from his lap to the passenger window, glaring at the lights passing by like shooting stars.  “How much longer?”

“Three minutes less than the last time you asked.”

“Can’t this thing go any faster?”

Hugh sighed.  “Sirens or no, there are still idiots who refuse to move.  This is New York, Mister Jones.”

“We should’a stuck ta Twelfth Avenue.”

“A tractor trailer had flipped.”

“We could’ve gone around.”

“Cars were piled on both sides.”

“So?”  Casey sneered then punched the cruiser’s dashboard.  It cracked.  “Ye’re a cop.  Ya could’ve gotten through somehow!”

“Dammit, Jones, I’m a detective, not a miracle worker!”

“Whatever.  Just—get there soon.”

“Mister Jones?”

“What?”

“You need to calm yourself.”

Casey caught Hugh’s side glace then assaulted the wounded dashboard again, stomping the floorboard before directing a finger at the detective.  “Don’t tell me ta calm down.  Ya just explained why Kingston’s got every reason ta want April.  An’ accordin’ ta yer phone call wit’ that PD punk, he’s about ta learn why deals wit’ those slugs always turns sour.  If“—his voice broke—“if April’s wit’ ’em—“

“Sorry,” Hugh interjected.  “I should’ve worded that more carefully.  Were Marina in April’s place, I wouldn’t be much better.”

“Who’s Marina?  Yer girlfriend?”

“Wife.”

“April ‘n I ain’t married.”

“But you love her, right?  It’s the same principle.”

Sighing, Casey glared at the cracked dashboard as Hugh continued.

“Look.  The Purple Dragons have no business with Miss O’Neil.  Damien will make sure she’s safe.”

“An’ if he fails?”

“That tone is rather—”

“What?  Dishearteni’?  I could care less if ya’re a detective, FBI agent, or the president himself.  If those punks hurt her, I swear I’ll kill ‘em.  I’ll kill ‘em all.  Understand?”

A long moment passed before Hugh answered—filled with the cruiser’s sirens and roaring engine.  “Yes.  But revenge won’t excuse you from the law.  Kill any one, I’ll arrest you.  Hear me?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Then I guess there’s nothing more I can do.”

“Damn straight.”

Hugh shook his head, though remnants of a smile prevented him from looking exasperated.  “We’re coming up on Morningside Heights.  Will your friends be there on time?”

Casey snorted.  “If anythin’, they’ll be there before us.”

“How?  Because of their size, they needed to return for their own vehicle.  They should be behind us.”

“Trust me.  They’ve got ways ‘a gettin’ around.”

Hugh’s brows furrowed when the cruiser took a sharp turn.  “What’s that mean?”

“Nothin’,” Casey grumbled, returning his attention to the window.  “It just means they won’t be stopped.”

### ━❖━

Donatello sighed as Raphael kicked the parked Battle Shell.  “Denting the van won’t inflate the tire, Raph.”

“Like I give a damn!” Raphael retorted.  His accent echoed through the alleyway, which earned a glare from Leonardo.

“Will you be quiet?” the Jonin hissed.  He squeezed through the narrow passage between their van and the brick wall to give the hothead a pointed stare.  “You’ll draw attention.”

The hothead huffed then leaned against the Battle Shell’s front grill, his arms crossed.  “Whatever, Fearless; this is New York.  No one cares.”

“Regardless,” Donny added, “we should stay cautious.  We could get away, not the Battle Shell.  Not with a flat.”

“Don, do you have a spare?” Leo asked.

The purple-masked Chūnin faced his eldest brother.  “It’ll take time.  I think we’re better off on foot.  We’re in Morningside Heights already.  The address Detective Reese texted can’t be far.”

“Still, the Battle Shell can’t be here when daylight breaks.”

“I know,” Don snapped.  “I’ll fix it after we get April back.”

Leo paused, umber eyes widening.  Then, he sighed.  “Sorry, Don.  I won’t make you stay.”

“Thank you.”

“If ya two are finished”— Raph pushed off the grill—“we got a house ta find.”

Humming approval, Leo motioned for Don to meet their hotheaded brother at the alley entrance.  “Okay,” he started once they were gathered, “we head left.  Hopefully, Casey and the detective are…”

“L—Leo?” Donny waved a head in front of the Jonin. 

When Leonardo pointed, the genius glanced over his shoulder.  A man stalked down the opposing sidewalk, arms pulled backwards as if he were a mime fighting a strong breeze.  At one point he paused below a lamppost and twisted to mumble at something he apparently held.

This gave Donatello an opportunity to see his face before he rounded a street corner.  “Was that—?”

“Kingston,” Leo growled.  “Alright.  New plan.  Donny, help Casey and Detective Reese.  Raph and I will go after Kingston.”

The leader left no room for debate.  He nodded at Raphael and the duo crossed the street.  Don swallowed thickly when his brothers disappeared into the shadows.  Nevertheless, he obeyed and headed for the neighborhood rooftops.

‘ _Man, I hope Casey and Detective Reese are faring better than the Battle Shell._ ’

### ━❖━

Sluggish comprehension barely alerted Hugh to his shaking shoulder.  The grip on it grew rougher until the man hissed and he lifted his aching head from the sidewalk he’d been laying on.

“Detective, what happened?” Donatello asked.  The purple-masked mutant aided Hugh up.

“I—I…”  The man closed his eyes as a wave of nausea overcame him.  “We were about to enter the house.  Me and…Mister Jones!”  Hugh stepped forward, yet swayed.  “We must stop him.  He hit me in his panic, went after the gun fire alone.”

“Idiot,” Donatello said under his breath.  “You should stay here, Detective.  Your ribs are—“

“Fine,” Hugh interjected.  “Let’s go before—“

Bang!  Bang!  Bang!

Three gun shots were incentive enough for the duo.  Their eyes locked in silent agreement.  Then, they raced up the aged staircase that led into Kingston’s townhouse.  Hugh almost lost his footing when he vaulted over the open threshold into the foyer because ceramic shards covered the hardwood floor.  The detective assumed a table lamp had been shattered when Casey kicked in the door, and he steadied himself by with a baluster from the staircase on the right.

Donatello, meanwhile, passed by without fault—like he’d floated over the mess.  He flashed Hugh a weary look before nodding in a way that obviously asked if he were alright.  Regaining balance, Hugh stood tall and answered by drawing his gun from its holster.

He sprinted down the hallway, towards an open door illuminated by light from within.  His free hand gripped the doorframe, which guided him as he rounded the corner into a space crammed with hanging garments.  It took all of two seconds to determine it was a closet.  But just when Hugh dismissed its importance, another gunshot rang beyond the coats. 

“An entrance?” Donatello asked. 

Hugh pulled several garments off the rack.  Behind them, an enclosed staircase could be found.  The decent into the cellar was quick, and neither human nor mutant paused until their feet touched concrete and a body sailed their way.  Donatello jumped, heading towards the commotion across the room, but Hugh smiled at the gangster by his feet.

“Having fun?” he asked the younger African-American.

“About time you got here,” Damien spat.  Blood dribbled from his fat lips and he winced as Hugh pulled him up.  “I just disarmed Little Spice and Rojo.  Guns are to the side.  Can’t guarantee they’ll stay there, though.”

“Where’s Kingston?”

“Long gone.  The place is a mess, too, like we weren’t the first unwelcomed guests tonight.  Found the redhead down here, bound.  Rojo wanted to take her to Hun.  I…stopped him.”

“You did the right thing, Damien.  Now, how long has Mister Jones been here?”

“You mean the guy who lost his girlfriend?”  The gangster scoffed.  “Few minutes.  Tried telling him I was on his side.  Did no good.”

“Hence the throwing.  Will flashing my gun or badge help?”

“Not with these two.  They’d rather be killed.”

“I see.”  Hugh frowned then re-holstered his gun.  “Guess we’re doing things the hard way.  Find the redhead.  Keep her safe.” 

The detective left Damien.  He charged into the fray, biting back the burn in his ribs, and saved Donatello’s head from attack.  He smirked at the Mexican whose elbow he’d caught then delivered a strong uppercut to his jaw.  When the Purple Dragon reeled, Donatello swept his legs out from beneath him with one flawless motion from his staff.

Rojo recovered before he reached the floor, so Hugh dashed over.  He kneed the bent man in the face before hammering his back.  The gangster collapsed, crying out when  Donatello swung his staff at the Mexican’s head as if hitting a homerun.

The mutant must’ve felt sickened by his resort because he scowled at the unconscious man sprawled on his side.  “He—he kept getting back up,” he said, staring.

“He’ll have a headache,” added Hugh, “but he should be alright.  We have other worries.  Agreed?”

The detective glanced behind him, where Casey and a female gangster engaged in combat.  The buff man looked short of breath, ragged and blinded by rage.  His opponent, meanwhile, blew kisses after every attack she dodged.

“Well, Jones obviously isn’t thinking straight,” Hugh commented.

“He rarely does,” Donatello said.

“You want to distract the girl while I sneak up an—“

“I’m the ninja.  I’ll sneak.  Just do it fast; I need to know if April’s—”

“She’s here.  Damien’s with her.”  Hugh grinned, although Donatello’s displeased looked didn’t ease.  “Ready?”

Donatello darted ahead without confirmation.  He rounded Little Spice as she cartwheeled to avoid another thoughtless charge by Casey.  He crouched.  His staff swung.  But the gangster avoided it by jumping.  She gripped Donatello’s shoulders then back-flipped overhead, giggling.  The detective longed to help.  Unfortunately, he had another problem.

“Mister Jones, stop!” Hugh yelled.  His hands formed a barrier between the man and the fighters.  “Let Donatello handle the girl.”

“No!”  Casey’s narrowed eyes remained fixed on Little Spice.  “I told ya, Reese, if anything happened, I’d kill ’em!”

“Damien’s helping.  I’m sure she’s—“

“That kid’s just another Purple Dragon punk ass!”  Casey’s glare fell on Hugh.  “I found her, bleedin’.  Those sons ‘a bitches are gunna pay!”

“But she’s alive.  She needs someone to protect her, not avenge her, Jones.”

As if slapped, Casey faltered.  He cursed then shook his head before running to where Damien kneeled beside a motionless redhead.  Hugh sighed, returning his attention to Donatello.  He was shocked to find the mutant disarmed.  His bicep bled and he dodged Little Spice’s switchblade as it sliced through the musty air with purpose.

‘ _Damn,_ ’ Hugh thought.  ‘ _Who trained this girl?_ ’

Donatello kneed Little Spice’s stomach.  She gasped and dropped her switchblade when the ninja slammed the side of his hand against her skull.  Donatello was gentleman enough to catch the unconscious gangster before she met the concrete, though he didn’t hold her long. 

Hugh whistled then glanced at the slice that left red trails down Donatello’s arm.  “Will that need snitches?”

“Where’s April?” Donatello countered, scanning the basement.

“Back right corner.”

Donatello turned, so Hugh followed in silence to Damien, April, and Casey.  Cut ropes lay beside Casey and Donatello kneeled in them as he thumbed a large bruise that discolored April’s cheek.  A quick assessment confirmed dried blood along her agape mouth and a strange wound on her right thigh.

“What sort of weapon did this?” the detective asked, joining Donatello.  His fingers peeled back a singed tear in the woman’s cargo pants, revealing bubbled, burnt skin.  “Is this cauterized?”

“Damn EPF,” Donatello muttered. 

Hugh met the mutant with a frown.  “The EPF are…?”

“No one you’ll ever meet.  Hopefully.  Come on, Casey; I’m sure the neighbors have called the police by now.”

“Right,” Casey said, standing.  He lifted April into the bridal position as Hugh faced Damien, who sat along the cellar wall.

“I’m proud of you,” he told the younger African-American.  “I know that’s the last thing you want to hear from a cop, but I am.  I’ll put in a good word during my report, see if I can minimalist your sentence.”

“Don’t bother,” Damien countered, leaning his head back.  “I’ve made my own bed.  Now, even Hun won’t want me.”

Hugh smiled.  “I’m sure Jezebel will turn that pessimism into optimism.  No one wants to see you turn around more than her.”

“Woman’s trouble.  Don’t know why I keep her around.”

“Probably for the same reason I keep my wife,” Hugh said with a wink.

“Hey, Leo, you there?”  Donatello’s voice caught everyone’s attention.  The mutant held a strange phone against his ear and paced.  “You guys alright?  Good.  Where’s Kingston?  So he’s…?  Shit.  We—were you spotted?  …Yeah, we found her.  She has some bad bruising and a plasma burn, but is otherwise fine…Got it.  We’re on our way.”  Sighing, Donatello ended his call and slipped the cell into a pouch on his leather belt.  “Kingston got away,” he told Casey.

“How?” asked Casey.

“Bishop.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.  We have to go.  Uh, Detective—“

Hugh stopped Donatello.  “Mum’s the word, I swear.  As far as the NYPD is concerned, I just was following a lead.”

“And him?”  Donatello’s eyes found Damien.

“Considering I just betrayed Hun?” Damien questioned, listless.  “I have no reason rat you out.”

“Funny.  You don’t seem surprised about me.”

The gangster smirked—a strained, tired action.  “Stories about you Phantoms…circulate.  Let’s just say I’ve been warned.”

“Uh-huh…”  Donatello hesitantly tore his gaze from Damien to meet Hugh.  “Thanks for the help, Detective.”

“No problem,” Hugh countered.  “I only ask that you keep me informed about Nia.  I’ll be calling.”

Donatello snorted—as if holding back laughter—then told Casey, “Leo and Raph are meeting us at the Battle Shell.  We have a tire to change.”

Silent, Casey drew April closer, and after a round of thankful nods, Hugh watched the trio leave.


	25. News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have ten chapters left to post. The last seven or so aren't as edited as the rest of Finding Balance (as in, they're version 2.0 when I'm on version 3.0), but I want it all posted in 2016. So. LOL. I'll update them, though, whenever I get to editing those chapters...So many projects in the works... *sigh*

 

* * *

 **F** earless expected patience?  From Raphael, the most restless Hamato to date?  Had that numbskull been living in the same sewer as him for the last twenty-three years or what?  How the hell could he be patient in light of recent events?

‘ _First, Ape’s kidnappin’.  Then the detective.  Then the EPF?_   _She was lucky some inexperienced doof overlooked her when he stormed the basement for Kingston.  Still…_ ’

Leaving her alone would’ve been easier had she not teased everyone with ‘jarring news’ before leaving for Casey’s apartment.

“She knows better,” Raphael grumbled.  He steadied himself then kicked the Dojo’s punching bag, growling as it circled from its chain.

“What’s got you worked up?”

Raphael neither jumped at Michelangelo’s voice nor abandoned his task, answering, “Nothin’.”

“Nothin’?”

“Yeah, nothin’.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”  Mikey’s footfalls stopped behind Raph; the hothead could sense the dope surveying his older brother like a test subject.  It rather ticked him off.  “Got a reason ya’re here, Shell-for-Brains?”

“Jeez.  Why so snippy?”

 “’Cuz ya’re interruptin’.”  Raph gave the punching bag two strong punches.  “So unless yer gunna spar, leave.”

“Oh, Raphy, you know I’d love to.  But it seems you’ve forgotten my battle wound.  How cruel!”

“Ya’ve been movin’ around just fine.”

“Not fine enough to spar, though.”

Raph rolled his eyes.  “Will ya please go away?”

“Did you just say ‘please’?”  A whistle rang through the Dojo.  “Something’s definitely up.  Come on; spill your troubles to Doctor Hamato.”  Chuckling, the orange-masked Chūnin took a seat on the floor’s tatami mats.  He tried to mask any flinching, but the discomfort was obvious.

Raph’s fist sailed across the bag’s coarse canvas, this time with more force.  “I don’t got anythin’ ta say, Mike.”

Mikey clicked his tongue.  “With you, there’s always something.”

“Whatever.”

“Did you have another nightmare?”

“Mikey—“

“Or is this all because of Kingston?”

Sighing, Raph stepped back from the swaying bag and glanced at his brother.  “Leo talk ta ya?”

“Actually, Don did, when he gave me my morning meds.  Leo’s pissed.  Like you.  He won’t talk about it.”

“We had the bastard in our sights, Mikey!  He’d taken damage, so pinnin’ him was easy.  But then the—the—gah!”  Raph growled then hit the sand-filled bag with a fury that made it shudder.

“Well,” Mikey drawled, “least we know the EPF’s a for-sure thing.  Bishop wouldn’t have retrieved Kingston if they weren’t involved.”

“An’ that’s helpful how?”

“Never said it was helpful.  But it’s nice not worrying about ‘what if’s, right?”

Raph scoffed.  “Yeah, but now that Bishop’s officially involved, that means Anders will probably…”

“Spend the rest of her life like us?”

Raph avoided his brother’s smile, though it lingered at the back of his mind when he turned away and assaulted his punching bag once more.

“You don’t want that for her, do you, Raphy?”

“Is April here yet?”

“April?”  Mikey hummed.  “Oh, she came in a few minutes ago.”

“What?”  Raph whirled, glaring.  Behind him, the punching bag swung, but he recovered dodged in time to meet the younger Chūnin’s grin.

“She and Casey are in the living room now.” 

Raph sneered then stalked towards the Dojo door.  “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“I just did, Raphy!  Don’t get your shell in a bunch!”

Had he been behind rather than ahead, Raphael would’ve smacked Michelangelo.  Instead, he rolled his eyes, which refocused on a large group upon entering the Lair’s living room.  He glossed over Leonardo and Splinter until he found April.  She sat on the sofa, with Casey and Donatello flanking her sides.  Casey whispered in her ear like they were in the middle of a private debate, and although both humans had changed their clothes overnight, their faces looked far from refreshed.

Raph noted a dark bruise along April’s neck in addition the one on her cheek.  ‘G _uess we all look that terrible…_ ’

“I call the spot next to Nia!”

Michelangelo pushed aside Raph with gusto then joined Nia on the area rug.  The hothead barely caught the human’s apprehensive smile before she faced April gain, but didn’t dwell on it.  He neared Splinter in a sun-bleached armchair.  The rat’s paws rested atop his cane’s gnarled head, a shawl hugging his shoulders as he smiled.

“There you are, my son,” he said.  “We have been waiting.”

Raph’s glare landed on Mikey.  The idiot sniggered.

“Now that Raph’s here,” Leo added, “let’s get started.  April?” 

Everyone turned towards the redhead, like children awaiting a story.

But she sighed.  “Even after talking with Casey, I…I don’t know where to begin.”

“How about with Detective Reese?” asked Mikey.  He straightened on the rug, cringing.  “Didn’t you two meet before Kingston nabbed you?”

April’s fingers twitched against her knees.   Her eyes glossed over Nia then landed on the orange-masked Chūnin.  “There’s no easy way to go about this,” she half-muttered.

“Please.”  Raph snort lightly.  “Yer jarrin’ news can’t be any worse than Bishop prowlin’ the city.”

“Actually, it can,” April countered.  “It’ll be hard on Nia.”

“I can take it.”  Surprisingly, no hesitation or fear hindered Nia.  She sounded near exasperated, though her voice maintained its softness.

Raph smirked at her assured expression.  ‘ _There’s her backbone._ ’

“Nia,” April started.

The artist shook her head.  “I—I want to know, Miss April.  Please.”

“Alright.  We’ll start with Kingston, though.”  After a firm nod from Nia, April continued.  “With a name, Don and I were finally able to run a proper background check.  Charles Kingston was born in Hamburg, Germany, into a poor family.  Through extensive scholarships, he attended medical school.  Upon graduation, he moved to America, where he worked at several practices as a care physician and surgeon.”

Mikey raised his hand.  “I thought the detective said he was a scientist, not a doctor.”

“Right,” answered Don.  “He jumped between surgery and experimental science—either for curiosity or overachievement, we don’t know.”

April hummed.  “From his early thirties to mid forties, he prided himself on being a top-rate plastic surgeon in California.  Then something happened that changed his career indefinitely.”

“Which was?”

“Family,” April told Leo.  “Back in Germany, his sister and brother-in-law were in a fatal car accident.  Their two-year-old, Olivia Nyström, was left in the care of Kingston and his wife Madeleine.”

“Olivia was diagnosed with Muscular Dystrophy five years ago,” added Don.  “Since then, Kingston’s devoted himself to Pathology.”

“Pathology is the study and diagnosis of diseases,” April explained.

“Similar to Cytology,“ Nia said.  “Is that how Kingston knew about Daddy?”

“No,” answered the redhead.  “Bishop and Kingston found out about Gavin through Baxter.”

“That guy from—from the picture?”

“Your father’s work experience came up in a talk, apparently.”

“I don’t follow.”  Raphael earned the group’s attention and scowled.  “If Kingston wants Gavin’s research, why’s he chasin’ Nia?”

April’s green eyes met the hothead, though they didn’t linger.  “He has every reason to, if our theory holds up.”  She shared a look with Donatello.

“It’s time we told them,” said Don, as solemn as his smile.

“About the DNA sample?” Leonardo asked.

Raph double-took the leader’s casualty.  Only, Leo disregarded him in favor of their genius brother. 

“Yes,” Don replied.  He then offered an apologetic shrug to one perplexed redhead.  “You know how his looks get.  Besides, he kept it secret.  Right?”

“I saw no point in bringing it up,” the Jonin said.  “You told me things were speculative.”

“Wh—what DNA sample, Miss April?”

April flashed Nia hollow smile.  “It’s something that was in your father’s personal computer.”

Michelangelo interrupted with a gasp, which sounded more dramatic than surprised.  “Isn’t that illegal?”

“Desperate times, Mikey,” countered April.  “Gavin’s contribution to Erudio Laboratories had been erased by Bishop, so private files were all we could recover.  Between me, Don, and a source, we determined the DNA is…mutated.  What we can’t do is authenticate it.”  Slowly, the redhead’s brows knitted together.  “Honestly, though?  I doubt someone like Gavin would keep a faux DNA sample.  Not without reason.”

“I agreed,” added Don.  “We’ve been timorous about the subject because, well, like Leo said: it’s speculative.  But now there’s no more room for hesitation.  Nia, do you remember Gavin’s work?  Specifically a project called ‘Iníon’.” 

Under Donatello’s pointed look, Nia kept her lips parted yet never spoke.  Her blue-green eyes found Raphael, who twitched at their unreadable message.  For what felt like forever, they stared.  It wasn’t until Raph nodded that the artist faced Don again.

“I do,” she answered in a small voice.

“Is the DNA…yours?” asked Don. 

The pale human shrugged, looking aside.  “I—I know little about DNA and Iníon, but…he often brought me to Erudio Labs.  Growing up, I had frequent migraines.  They grew worse over the years.”

“Is this why you drink so much Chamomile, Child?” asked Splinter.

Nia sent the rat a slow nod.  “Not that it helps.  Nothing does.  Despite treatments, the pain never eased.  And sometimes the spells got so bad that I’d miss weeks of school.  Daddy…Daddy obsessed over helping.  I hated seeing him so distraught.  So I let him believe he’d helped with a serum he devised.”

“Ya gotta take a serum?”  This time, Casey spoke, and he learned forward with his elbows on his knees.

“No,” Nia answered.  “Not—not anymore.”

“So yer father researched ya?”

“He tried to  _diagnose_  me.”

“And failed.”  Casey had meant to be clear, not rude.  Perhaps Raph was the only one who understood; April, Mikey, and Don glared.  The man countered them with a quirked brow, except Nia didn’t seem offended.

“Yes, Mister Casey,” she whispered.

“Was this serum the reason behind your father’s termination?” asked April.

Nia nodded, silent.

“I see.”

“But that’s all I know,” the artist added.  “Daddy never explained ‘Iníon’ and I have no idea how important that DNA sample is.  Or why it’s a part of this conversation, really.”

“Well”—Don wrung his hands—“it has interesting properties.”

“I—I don’t understand.”

“That makes two ‘a us,” Raph muttered.

Inhaling, the genius locked eyes with Nia, saying, “Specifics aside, the donor could, theoretically, advance medicine.  Its blood carries anti-bodies, unlike any human’s.  These anti-bodies could provide a basis to synthesize a cure for Kingston’s niece.”

“A cure for”—Nia swallowed—“for Muscular Dystrophy?”

“Possible cure.  Of course, you’d need blood from the source to experiment with.”

“The night Leo and I saved Nia, Kingston said he needed her,” injected Mikey with a frown.  “If the DNA is his connection then—”  The orange-masked mutant silenced himself, perhaps in fear of unnerving his friend. 

‘ _Sorry, Mike.  We’ve come too far ta spare feelin’s._ ’ 

And he wasn’t the only one who thought so; April managed a smile.   “Don and I were also confused.  Until I spoke with Hugh Reese.”

“The detective.”

April hummed confirmation towards Michelangelo.  “It seems he’s rather involved with your family, Nia.  Or was, anyway.”

“How so?” Leonardo added.

“For starters, he knew Mia.  They were high school sweetheart until things went south.  Uh, Nia?  He told me something important.  It’s only fair you know the truth, but I admit…I’m a scared to tell you.”

Nia fidgeted along the rug.  “Why?  I—is it bad?”

“I don’t think so.  It makes sense.  But your opinion might be different.”

“W—why do you say that?

“Well…”

The redhead trailed off.  Raph found it both unusual and disheartening to see her back down.  He wanted to send an encouraging sign—a nod or a slanted smile—only, her focus remained on Nia.

Finally, she said, “You were adopted, Nia.”

Was Nia angry?  Hurt?  Sad?  Raph couldn’t tell because not only was she silent, she was dead still, until Mikey’s touch broke her trance.

“I—I’m what?” she managed.

 “Adopted,” April replied.  “As a toddler.  Does this spark anything?”

“Wh—I—no!  Otherwise, why would I—I—I be so shocked?”

“Alright!”  The redhead raised her hands.  “I’m sorry.”

“N—no, I’m sorry.”  And just like that, temperance doused Nia’s panic.  She ducked her head then began twisting several locks of black hair between her fingers.

Nonetheless, April spared a compassionate look.  ”While no one is as surprised as you, I was floored when the detective told me.  Apparently, your mother couldn’t have children.”

“But I…W—why didn’t they tell me?  Why lie?”  Nia’s breathlessness almost butchered her words.

“I guess knowing wasn’t in the plan.  You’re theirs, Nia, whether through blood or not.”

“Does this mean the DNA—?”

“Could be yours?  Kingston believes so.  And considering it’s part of Gavin’s project ‘Iníon’, which means ‘daughter’?  Well…”

“We can’t confirm anything without a comparison, though,” Donny added.

Nia glanced up at the genius.  “H—how would we go about that?”

“A DNA test requires sensitive equipment.  To be certain, I have a source that can help.  Maybe.”

Raph rolled his eyes.  “Will ya knock it off wit’ the ‘source’ crap, Genius?  Ya sound like a drug dealer.”

“Can’t help it,” Don countered, blunt.  “My source prefers a sense of anonymity.  I honor that.”

“Seriously.  It ain’t LH, so who are they?”

“Just a science friend who knows more about Biology than me.”

“Uh-huh.  Ya gotta girlfriend.”

Don grimaced.  “Not funny.”

“A perddy little geek like yerself.”

“Just drop it, alright?”

“Sure thing”—Raph smirked—“lover boy.”

“Come on, kids; get back on track.”

“Agreed, April.”  Leo sent the red-masked Chūnin a warning stare then regarded the redhead.  “Was that all your news?”

Raphael loathed the tilting motion his friend’s hand when she answered, “Not quite.”

“What more could ya possibly add?” Raph all but screamed.

April sucked in a short breath.  “Everyone aggress the EPF’s appearance had everything to do with Kingston, right?”  Once the clan nodded, she continued.  “That’s because Kingston’s credentials run cold, just like Gavin’s.  He had been working for the EPF.”

Mikey frowned.  “But why would someone so prestigious assist a madman like Bishop?”

“Olivia.”

“His niece?”

“Bishop promised to save her.  You five, above all, know how far some will go for family.”  Sighing, April rubbed her hands together.  “I—if the DNA belongs to Nia…you know what that means.”

“Dammit,” Raph whispered, clenching his jaw.

“This leaves two other matters,” continued April.  “One good and one…not.  Which would you prefer?”

“I vote good!” Mikey exclaimed, attention now set on Nia.  “We need a change of pace.”

April didn’t hesitate; in fact, her smile proved her eagerness.  “The night of the fire, Kingston and Bishop had gone to Gavin to offer him a job.”

“Why’s that good?” Raph interjected.

“If you’re quiet, you’ll see.  Now, Nia, are your memories still hazy?”

Nia weakly shrugged.   “Sometimes.  H—honestly, my mind goes back and forth between what it believes, like—like my parents never really died.”

“They didn’t.”  April’s comment prompted the younger female to jerk her head upwards.  “Kingston told me the charred remains in your apartment were EPF goons, that Bishop had escaped with your parents.”

Well, this was an interesting turn of events.  Raphael couldn’t blame Nia for gawking or doubling over.  Her stomach must’ve been sour—if the prickling wave through his body were any indicator.

 “T—they’re alive?”  Nia sounded on the verge of tears, which he also couldn’t blame her for.

“According to Kingston, Bishop needs them to be.”

“Alright!” cheered Michelangelo.  He pulled Nia, but her forehead wouldn’t lift from the weathered rug.  “Smile, Dudette!  You still have your family.  Can you believe that?”

“I can’t,” Leo interjected.  “How do you know Kingston wasn’t lying?  Or mistaken?”

Green eyes found the Jonin, understanding yet certain.  “Though I didn’t agree with his methods, Kingston laid everything out on the table.”

“You’re sure?”

“He’s fighting for family, Leo.  He has no purer reason.”  Despite her defense, the redhead grimaced.

“Why do you sound unnerved then?” Mikey questioned.  “We know the guy sounds pretty nutty and he kidnapped you and all.  But he’s desperate, right?”

“He is nutty, Mikey.”

The orange-masked Chūnin raised an eyeridge at April’s hand gestures.  “Haven’t we determined this?”

“No.  Listen.  The guy is certifiably insane.”

“Isn’t that a little harsh?  Kingston’s just, ya know, taking the wrong roads to solve his problems.”

“But he can’t!”

“What are you talking about?”

April gave Mikey a pointed look then directed it towards everyone else.  “In his basement, Kingston talked to air.  Not thinking out loud, not jesting.  Talking.  Having a conversation with _no one_.  He called an empty space Olivia then pretended to pick something—someone—up.”

Those mind-boggling words silenced even Michelangelo.  They hit the crowd like a sucker punch, and a cursory scan showed all, save April and Casey, shared a similar look of disbelief.

So, sighing, Raphael dared ask what he knew everyone was thinking.  “Are ya sayin’ he’s delusional?”

His answer came before April spoke.  Everything about her—from her solemn expression to clenched fists—set his dread in stone.  And nothing but heartbreak cracked her voice.

“He’s trying to fulfill a fruitless mission.  I researched death certificates for his family.  Both his wife and niece died months ago, in an accident.  He…failed.”


	26. The Sketchbook

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mikey = Love

 

* * *

 **M** ichelangelo glanced up from the Lair’s kitchen table.  “Huh?” he asked Donatello.

The purple-masked Chūnin shook his head, padding across the room.  His coffee mug thumped the tabletop as he claimed a seat opposing his younger brother.  But even though Mikey sensed the inevitable, he gave little effort into unburying his face.

“You only break out the cheese hat when things are bad,” Donny continued.  “Or, you clean.”

Mikey grunted.

“This got anything to do with Nia?” added the Genius.

“Yeah,” Mikey whispered.  “I tried cheering her up.  She barely twitched.”

Donny sipped his coffee, swallowing it with a sigh.  “Nia’s had a lot to process these last two days.”

“Which is why she should smile!”  Straightening up, Mike caught his brother’s sympathetic gaze.  “She’s come so far; I don’t like her…regressing.”

“No one does…What’s she doing now?”

“Drawing.”

“Why not join her?”

“I’ve tried.  She doesn’t acknowledge me.”

The genius sipped his coffee with a calmness that Mikey found incomprehensible.  “Perhaps you don’t need acknowledgment.  Just…sit there.  Let her know she has support, if she wants it.”

“Maybe.”

“Don’t worry.”  Donny grinned.  “She’ll come around.”

Mikey mirrored his brother’s gesture with effort.  “Thanks.  So, what are you doing today?”

“Well.”  Donny swallowed another gulp of coffee then set the mug on the table.  “April and I have started a project a while ago.  Now that we aren’t distracted by Kingston, we can finally concentrate on it.”

“What kind of project?”

“One that’ll potentially expedite future manhunts.  If we have a valid picture, that is.  Apparently, the idea came from Casey.”

“Our Casey?”

“One and the same.”  Donny sniggered then snorted.  “He mentioned things being easier with more brainpower.  So, we’re gunna get more.”

Mikey quirked an eye ridge.  “You’re gunna grow your brains?  Sounds painful.”

“Not our brains, per se.”

“Then whose?”

“The main computer’s.  It’s needed an upgrade for years, but I’ve been putting it off.”

“How come?”

“Money issues, mostly.  And lacking salvageable parts.   Ape and I agreed we should bite the bullet already, though.  I mean, a facial recognition program could hack into surveillance feeds and satellite imaging, make searches so much easier.”

“Ooh,” Mikey drew out with a sly grin.  “Like spies!”

Donny rubbed the back of his neck.   “A program like that requires constant patches and a complete reconfiguration to prevent crashing or overheating.  We bought a few industrial-grade CPUs and SATA based HDDs that I can use as a subsystem for the Lair’s main server.”  Slowly, a grin spread Donatello’s lips. “When we’re finished I’ll have a baby that can compute cycles five times faster than a human’s NVC!”

For the longest time Michelangelo sat still.  Then, he blinked, saying, “That’s nice.”

Donatello grimaced.  “You’re lost, aren’t you?”

“You bet!”

“Let’s just say I can accomplish a lot with these upgrades—even if the price makes me want to barf.  The order arrived not long ago.  April’s bringing it over, so if you could keep Nia busy, that’d be appreciated.”

“Scared she’ll kill your precious servers?”

“We already lost two TVs when you insisted she get breakfast.  So, yeah.”

“Doubt that’ll be a problem.”  Both Mikey’s smirk and tone dropped.  “She hasn’t left her cot or sketchbook.”

Donny reached over, patting his brother’s arm with a gap-tooth smile.  “You’ll figure something out.  I’m going to get things ready for April, K?”

“See ya.”

Mikey waved goodbye, though as soon as the purple-masked Chūnin disappeared from view, his grin fell.  Sighing, his head dropped onto his arms, and he remained still until orange fur tickled his nose. 

“Hey, Klunk,” Mikey cooed.  “Where’ve you been?” 

Klunk meowed as the mutant stroked his arching back.

“You only come out when Nia’s gone.  Must have something to do with her ‘electrical pulse’ thingy, eh?  Is it that unsettling?”

Animals couldn’t comprehend human speech.  Still, Mikey refused to believe Klunk’s hiss was a response to anything except his question.

“She isn’t bad,” the mutant continued, scratching under the cat’s chin.  “I’m sure she’d love company, if you gave her the chance.”

Suddenly, the feline stiffened—his amber eyes rounded and his tail fluffed like a pipe cleaner.   He sent his owner a look then hissed again before fleeing upstairs.

‘ _Guess it’s up to me to work magic, then._ ’

Michelangelo removed his cheese hat and left it behind as he headed down the corridor beside the kitchen.  He paused when something odd caught his attention.  A figure crouched in the shadows outside Nia’s room.  To anyone untrained in Ninjutsu, the figure would be near invisible.  Nia had undoubtedly overlooked their presence.  Mikey, on the other hand, approached the hiding spot with ease.

“What’re you doing, Raph?” he whispered.

Raphael jolted—an action which almost sprawled him across the doorway.  “Damn, Idiot!” he hissed.  “Ya tryin’ ta give me a heart attack?”

“Me?  You’re the one creeping from the doorjamb.”

“I ain’t creepin’,” Raph retorted.  His Brooklyn accent sounded gruffer than normal.  “I was just…“

“Creeping?”

“No!  It’s—“ The hothead turned aside.  “It’s nothin’.  Have fun.”

The hothead wasted no time leaving, and Mikey suspected a blush kept his brother’s head ducked.  The jokester snorted, making a mental note to tease Raph later, then crossed the doorway.

With a cheerful voice, he asked, “How’s the art coming?”

Nia didn’t respond.  Then again, Mikey expected as much, so he allowed little room for reply anyway.

“Have you moved onto another piece?”  The mutant stopped at Nia’s cot, leaning down so he could see the ringed sketchpad in his friend’s lap.

A slew of graphite sketches covered the page.  There were only two models—one, a regal male with ear length hair and round, wire glasses; the other, a business-like female whose angled bob cut matched her playful expression.  They were the same people Mikey had seen the page before.  And the page before that.

“Still drawing your parents?”  Mikey watched Nia’s hand come to a halt after darkening a line along her father’s neck. 

She sighed then set aside her pencil.  Still, she avoided the orange-masked Chūnin.

“You can’t keep your thoughts buried forever, ya know?” asked Mikey.  He knelt beside the cot as Nia’s shoulders slumped.

“My parents lied,” she rasped.

“Yeah.  But there must be a good reason why.”

“Mikey”—the human looked sick—“they were the only people I could trust without question.  And they kept this from me.  They…they started their relationship with me based on a lie.”

The mutant shrugged.   “So?  Just because they hid your adoption doesn’t mean everything they’ve said and done was a lie.  They loved you.  Sorry; _love_ you.”

Nia glared, her hands clenched.  “An adopted child deserves the truth.  I deserved the truth.  And not from a third party—from them.  But it seems like they never planned to tell me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m twenty, Michelangelo.  You don’t wait until your child’s thirty or fifty before telling them they’re adopted!”

“Nia—“

“I—I was found as a toddler.  Three years old.”  Nia held up three fingers before returning them and her gaze to her lap.  “Now it makes sense why Mama and Daddy never let me handle my birth certificate.  Which may be another lie, actually.  For all I know, I could’ve been born in a barn.”  Nia snorted.  “The baby stories, the pregnancy stories—they’re false.  It’s all…false.”

“Does it really matter?”  Mike met Nia’s blue-green eyes.  “None of that defines who you are, who Nia Anders is.”

“But in this case it can define  _what_  I am.  Had my parents been upfront, it would’ve made things clearer.  I—I—I always thought mutants, aliens, and other dimensions were limited to the comic books—that the Silver Sentry was a one-in-a-trillion chance.  Then I met you guys.  And my whole perspective changed.  They should’ve told me.  Daddy should’ve told me.”

“About the DNA?”

“I’m scared,” Nia whispered.  “Scared to let Donatello draw blood.  Scared for an analysis.  Scared—”

“It’ll match?”  Somehow, Mikey managed a half-hearted grin, despite Nia’s keen interest in the rug below her cot.  “Being a mutant isn’t so bad.  Unless you got something against us.”

“Wh—no!  Course not.  But…”

“But?”

Nia drew out a long sigh, leaning her forehead against her drawn up knees.  “You have others, Mikey.  Your brothers.  Your father.  Me?  I have no one to tell me what I am, where I come from.  No one to explain my migraines or this uneasiness in my chest.  Why I short circuit electronics and send animals running.  You have a guide, others like you, and I...”

Mikey let Nia trail off, studying what little of her expression he could see.  “You’re right,” he said.  “And it’s because of my clan that my life is worth anything.  But you’ve had the same thing.  With your parents—biological or not.  And if the DNA’s a match, your father already knows your aren’t”—the mutant fought for the right word—“all human.  He knows and hasn’t abandoned you.  That’s saying something.  That—that’s love.”

“You don’t lie to loved ones.”

“You do when you think it’s merciful.  Or are scared.  Nia”—Mikey squeezed the human’s shoulder—“I think your dad didn’t have any explanations.  That’s why he waited.  Don’t be mad at him or your mom for that.  And whatever the DNA’s outcome is, they’ll be there for you when we get them back.  Us too.”

Nia jerked upright—a subtle, poignant action.  “Re—really?”

“We’d be obliged to figure out your mutantness, Dudette.  Donny more so than anyone else.”  Mikey smiled when Nia chuckled.  “Like I said, being a mutant ain’t all bad.  Besides, you already have a leg up on us.”

“What do you mean?”

“You look human.  Make no mistake; I love being a turtle.  But sometimes I get jealous of those who can walk Topside without being screamed at.”

“I”—swallowing thickly, Nia glanced down—“I’m sorry.”

 “Don’t sweat it.  There are roundabout ways that do in a pinch.  Disguises.  They’re fun.  Make us feel like undercover detectives.”

“Or superheroes maintaining their secret identities?”

“Precisely!  Knew I was friends with you for a reason.”  The mutant wrapped an arm around the human, drawing her into a hug that made her giggle.  “Ah, there, a smile.  I win!”

“Is your personal goal to keep everyone happy?” Nia asked.

Michelangelo watched her dry her puffy eyes with her sleeve, saying, “Yup!”

“Y—you’re too good.”

“No such thing.  Now, can we finally draw together?”  Nia’s brows eased when Mikey pouted and fluttered his eyes.

“Where’s your sketchbook?” she questioned.

“On my bed, I think.  Be right back.”

“No!”  Nia leapt off her cot, nearly landing face-first when she tripped over her own feet.  “I’ll get it,” she added.  “As an apology.”

“You don’t gotta—“

“Give me a moment!”  Then, Nia left before Mikey could protest any longer.

The orange-masked Chūnin gave in and sat on Nia’s cot in wait.  His eyes roamed the room, but ultimately fell on the young woman’s sketchbook.  He bit his lip as his finger ran along its spiral spine.

Was it rude to look?  Sketchbooks were like diaries.  On the other hand, he’d already seen a few pages.  What was a few more?

‘ _It should be fine,_ ’ he thought with nod.  Smiling, Michelangelo spread the sketchbook across his lap then began shifting through its pages. 

Many pages were filled with gesture sketches of everyday life, set from a Bird’s Eyes view.  Here and there a scene was rendered, though it seemed Nia lacked interest in finishing her work.  Mikey knew why because the artist had explained weeks ago.  She saw her still-life sketches as mandatory exercises to keep her skills sharp.  She had no desire to make them anything more. Unlike the following pictures.

These were filled with renderings of people—young and old—from multiple ethnicities.  A laughing African could be spotted beside a sour Indian.  A posing Korean stood back-to-back with an equally stylish Caucasian.  A tender grandmother smiled at her infant grandchild.  And so forth.

As Mikey turned yet another page, he hesitated, struck by the date.  ‘ _September eighth.  The night Nia met us._ ’

Sure enough, crude sketches of the Hamato brothers riddled the next few pages.  The figures were indistinguishable from one another, and their anatomy made them look either too lanky or too chubby.  Or worse: like aliens.  It seemed like a terrible joke, although Mikey knew better.  He pushed their disfigured faces from his mind, continuing.

‘ _September thirteenth?  Huh.  She must’ve drawn these after we left for patrol.  Crazy how much better she got in just five days._ ’

The sketches started off stiff, yet several warm-ups later, they flowed into organic contours centered on the Hamato clan.  Accuracies in their anatomy strengthened, and many pages were dedicated to their features—like Don’s gap-tooth smile, Mikey’s freckles, and Splinter’s defined profile.  The pattern remained constant until September twentieth.  Then, a new pattern emerged.

Nia began drawing more of Raphael.  One page, he’d be training.  The next, he’d be watching television.  A majority, though, showcased his muscle structure and expressions with such intensity, the emotion behind the lines couldn’t be mistaken.

“Wh—what are you doing?”  Nia’s voice cut through the room.

Within the blink of an eyes, the sketchbook disappeared from Michelangelo’s lap.  He lifted his head towards Nia, who backpedaled and clenched her sketchbook against her chest.  Her body trembled, but Mikey smiled at her mortified look.

“You’ve gotten better at drawing us,” he said.

“H—how much did you see?” Nia demanded, face bright as a Christmas light.

“All of it.”

“A—all?”

“I especially like your comments about what makes each of my bros unique—both inside and out.  Nice attention to detail.  Uh, Nia?”  Mikey stood to approach the artist.  “Hey, no need to be embarrassed.”

“Now you’re teasing me?” Nia hissed.  Her knuckles turned white around the sketchbook as a prickling sensation roused goosebumps across Mikey’s body.

“N—Nia?”

“It wasn’t yours to look at.”

“Nia?  I, uh”—the mutant cringed, his vision blurring for a moment—“I’m sorry I looked.  Okay?  But I think you should calm down.  Please?”

Nia looked shaken by Mikey’s uneven tone.  She shook her head then inhaled.  Slowly, the pins and needles diminished until Mikey felt normal enough to chuckle nervously.

“Guess Sensei’s meditation lessons are helping,” he said.

“I’m sorry!”  Nia took another step back.  Her body hit the wooden shelf behind her, causing knick knacks to fall from their perch.  The artist flinched when her South American statue almost thwacked her shoe on its way down, though she didn’t move.

Frowning, Mikey retrieved the carved stone.  “I wasn’t teasing, Dudette.  I’m serious; the work is good.  Especially Raphy Boy’s section.”

The human ducked her head and grew silent.

“Come one,” Mikey continued, approaching the shelf to place the statue back in its spot.  “It doesn’t take a rendered drawing of Raph’s muscles for me to put the pieces together.  Ever since you two came to an understanding, you’ve looked at him differently.”

“M—Michelangelo, don’t.”

“What about him strikes your fancy, anyway?  Really, I’m curious.”  The orange-masked Chūnin stepped backwards, crossed his arms, and then raised an eye ridge.  “It can’t be his patience or smooth talking.”

“Mike—“

“Just answer the question.  Pretty please?”

A twinge turned Mikey’s stomach when Nia’s blue-green eyes lifted—a mix between nervousness and anticipation.  She turned aside, though; focus set on her South American statue.

“I’m your friend, Nia,” Mikey added.  “You can tell me.”

“Why do you want to know?” Nia whispered.

“Because keeping feelings buried isn’t good for you.  The more you avoid them, the worse your migraines get.  Right?  Would you rather talk with Sensei?”

“N—no!  No.”  Nia’s shoulders fell, just enough that Mikey felt like he was making progress.  “It’s something, uh, silly.”

“Doubt that.  Come on, spill it.”

Mikey moved to catch Nia’s attention.  For a moment, she held her ground.  But when Mikey poked her arm, she sighed in defeat.

“It—it’s hard to explain,” she started, soft.  “When I first met Raphael, I was reminded of Daddy.  He—he didn’t make me uncomfortable at first.  That came later.  It wasn’t his fault, either.  It was my view.  The way I handle things.  He made me think about it when I didn’t want to.  Made me face it, believe I needed to…grow.  I suspected there was more to him than scowls and impatient pushing.  And there was.”

 “Go on,” Mikey urged with a nod.

“That night we talked—really talked—I realized he’s been trying to help.  He just has a different way of coping with change, my move here.  Me.  And I can’t blame him.”

“It’s not all you, Nia,” said Mikey, solemn.  “My clan’s been under a lot of stress.  Your situation has just given light to how much.  But maybe that’s good, in a way.  Helping is giving us the push we need to grow ourselves.  So maybe we were meant to meet.”

Nia sent the orange-masked Chūnin a weak smile.  “Turtle Luck?”

“Yeah,” he answered with a snort.  “So.  You like Raph because he…what?  Made you believe in yourself?”

A blush reddened Nia’s ears and cheeks.  “We—well, not exactly.  But I—I—I—he—”  The human huffed.  ”My parents have always told me how I deal with life is my choice.  Raphael…It hurt, but he made a point.  I can’t keep running.  He’s the first to say I can be something more than what I am now.  I—I guess I admire his drive.  In my mind, he—he’s encouragement.  He’s inspiration.  He’s who I think about when I realize I should be stronger...”  Nia trailed off, and a long pause reigned before Mikey could must a grin.

“Sounds like the start of love to me,” he said.

“What?” Nia screeched.  “No, no, no!  This isn’t—no. It’s admiration.  Nothing more.”

Mikey stepped towards the human so he could capture her attention without question.  “I think you’re lying to yourself.  Maybe for other reasons other than Raph being a jackass."

“W—which reasons?”

“The ones that’ll haunt my clan forever.  A human and a mutant?  Honestly, I—I thought you wouldn’t be one to— “  Michelangelo stopped short, having noticed a flinch in Nia’s face.  “Those reasons don’t bother you.  And you’re…What?  Feeling guilty for being attracted to him?”

“It’s confusing,” Nia croaked.  “I—I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel.  Or think.  Or do.”

“As cliché as it sounds, act on your heart.  You’re unique for not minding us in that way.  I know it gives me hope for the future.  And if Raph knew your feelings—“

“He can’t!  Please, it’d be pointless.  I’m not even sure what my feelings are.  B—besides”—Nia’s voice dropped into a grumble—“he’s attracted to women with strength.  Women like his last girlfriend.”

“All women have strength, Nia.  You’re no exception.  Raph will understand that when the time is right.”

The artist either refused to answer or couldn’t.  Either way, she withheld any further thoughts, which left the duo in a heavy silence.

“Alright, enough moping!” Mikey bellowed.  Sniggering, he snaked an arm around Nia then dragged her out of the bedroom after retrieving his once-forgotten sketchbook.   “Things will sort themselves out.  Meanwhile, we have some collaborating to do.  Comprendé?”

Nia gave a weak laugh.  “Sí.”

“Now, onwards to the living room!”


	27. Guy Talk

 

* * *

 **H** ugh grinned as he spread across his couch.  “Nia,” he said.  “Finally, you pick up.”

“Y—yeah,” Nia’s reply carried like a whisper over the phone.  “Sorry.”

“I understand.  Well, now.”  Hugh snorted, gaze following the crown molding around his living room.  “Ya know, it’s been hell putting your parents’ wills and funerals on the back burner.  My Inspector was going crazy, but I couldn’t proceed without you.”

“Thanks for that, Mister Hugh.”

“No problem.  So, how are you holding up?”

“I’m fine.”

Hugh frowned at the tremble in Nia’s tone.  “April gave me the full situation.  From what I gathered, you have every right not to be fine.”

“I…”  A slow sigh crackled the phone line.  “I—It’s been hard, but I have friends helping me.”

“That’s good.”

“Mist—“

“Just Hugh.

“Hugh?”

“Yes?”

“How much did April tell you?”

Hugh’s head lolled against the armrest below his head.  “Almost everything,” he answered.  “What she wouldn’t say is why Kingston or Bishop would have an interest in you.  She said you’d tell me the reason, if you wanted.”

“I—I see.”

“So…care to share?”

A long silence followed.  Hugh double-checked his connection to ensure the signal hadn’t dropped and even adjusted the call volume.

“Anybody home?” he asked.

“I’m thinking,” Nia replied softly.

“About what?  If you can trust me?”  The man’s voice adopted a slight edge yet remained warm.  “If I weren’t trustworthy, I would’ve run for the precinct the moment I met the Hamatos.  I promise: whatever you say, it’ll be off the books and taken to my grave.”

“It’s a bit lengthy.”

“A long story won’t bother me; I’ve been calling for weeks.”

“It may be a little unbelievable, too.”

“I just met some mutant turtles.  Ninja mutant turtles.  I can handle it.”

“Still.”

“It’s fine.  Ramble it.  Draw it out.  Whatever.  I just need to know.”

“Well.”  Another pause.  Then, another sigh.  “You investigated the fire at my apartment, right?”

“That was some weird crap, but no one else believes me.  Not even Blaine.”

“It’s weird because it wasn’t a normal accident.”

“I knew it!  Take that, Wendell!”  Hugh’s grin fell when a sharp gasp sunk his stomach.  “Nia, what happened?”

“No—not sure,” the young woman answered.  “It’s like the memories were put in a blender.  But I’ve been having nightmares about them.”

“What happens in your nightmares?”

Silence reigned as Nia inhaled.  “I come home from a tutoring session,” she started.  “Daddy is talking with some gentlemen.  Kingston and Bishop, maybe?  I—I can’t recall faces, just the emotion.  It feels heavy, precarious.  The men want Daddy’s approval, but Daddy points at the door.  They keep insisting until Mama intervenes.  She pushes one.  They hit her back.  I remember feeling vibrations in my chest when I screamed because…the world’s silent as blood drips from her head.”

Hugh couldn’t blame Nia for her shuddering breath, and allowed her to swallow before she continued.

“Daddy attacks them.  My throat closes when th—they shoot him.  I want it all to stop, so I scream for it to.  And my body becomes feverish and my vision blurs.  Then all sound returns suddenly.  The television, lights, microwave, everything electronic—they explode like fireworks.  It…it petrified me.  I think that’s why the fire escalated.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.”  Hugh sat up, leaned against the armrest, and then stroked his goatee.  “Are we still talking about your dream?  Or what actually happened?”

“It’s”—a sniffle sounded over the line—“it’s both, Mister Hugh.”

“You’re telling me you started the fire?  And somehow made it grow?”

“In a way.  I think short-circuiting things is a byproduct of my, uh, ‘feeling’.”

“Your ‘feeling’?”

“It’s something I’m attempting to find balance with.  Mister Splinter’s meditation has been helping, especially with the migraines.”

Hugh pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Question: if it was a supernatural fire, what does that make you?”

Nia groaned.

“Is this why Kingston and Bishop want you?”

“We—we only know why one wants me.  Kingston.  Bishop’s a wild card, though odds are high his reason’s the same.”

“What reason?” questioned Hugh in a strained tone.

Nia paused before replying.  “I—I had some blood work done yesterday.  And got the results a little while ago…”

**━❖━**

Donatello’s footfalls were silent against the garage’s concrete floor, yet that didn’t stop Raphael from noticing his brother.  The acknowledgment came as a shift in Raph’s figure that lay awkwardly beneath a motorcycle—a subtle pausing of the hands.

Don bypassed the Battle Shell, asking, “Care for some company?”

“Is there a choice?” Raph countered.

Don pursed his lips then retrieved and sat in a chair from a nearby workbench.  “Why are you here?”

“Gee, Don; I thought I was workin’ on the Shell Cycle.  But maybe I’m really doin’ the Macarena.”

“You know what I mean.  Everyone else has been hovering around, waiting for an answer.  And you just disappear?”

“I’ve been busy.  Figured I’d know the verdict eventually.”

“Dude.”  Donny leaned down so metal no longer obscured his brother’s face.  “Being patient and passive?  Now I know something’s up.”

“Nothin’s ‘up’,” Raph spat.  He switched his wrench for a screwdriver with ease, although Don knew never to accept his comments at face value.

“Sure,” said Donny.  “Which is why you’re distracting yourself.”

“For the love ‘a—!”  A metallic scrap under the motorcycle accompanied Raph’s curse.  “Ya gunna tell me what happened, Brainiac?  ‘Cuz if not, there’s the door.”

“No, I am.”  Don sighed then leaned back in his swivel chair, eyes set on the Shell Cycle’s red features.

“Ya don’t sound enthused.  Was the outcome bad?”

“Depends on what you consider bad.”

“She’s got cancer an’ is gunna die.”

“That’s not funny, Raph.”

The hothead snorted—his means of an apology.

“Her blood work matched.”  Donny waited for his brother’s response.  Once Raph’s hands lowered and his head turned aside, the genius continued.  “There’s no doubt.  The DNA is Nia’s.”

“So,” started Raph, oddly soft, “she’s a mutant?”

“I’m not sure what she is, honestly.”

“Meanin’?”

“Exactly what it sounds like.”

Raphael slammed his tool against the concrete and shimmied out from underneath the Shell Cycle, a scowl on his dark green face.  “What it sounds like is ya don’t know shit,” he spat.

“Can’t fight you there, I guess,” countered Don.  “Part of Nia is human.  But the other part?  It’s unidentifiable.”  The genius rubbed his face when his brother’s amber eyes pushed for a better explanation.  “Alright.  When something is mutated it retains traces of its origin.  Depending on the mutation, this trace can be apparent or unapparent.  For example, people can tell we”—Donny gestured to Raph then himself—“were mutated from Sliders.  But it’s only on a biological level that it’s revealed we have more human qualities than turtle.  Qualities like a human-like skeletal system and digestive system.  Although our stomachs aren’t as sensitive and we can retreat into our shells if needs-be.”

“Which hurts like hell,” Raph added.

“Least you can still do it.”

Raph sniggered.  “It’s yer fault for bein’ over six foot.”

“Not really.  Anyways, we interact, learn, and respond to outside stimuli as a human does—not a turtle.  Which makes our overall function more humanistic.  Following so far?”

The red-masked Chūnin gave a curt nod, crossing his arms.

“Now”—Don barely repressed a sigh as he spoke—“I can map our origins with ease.  Nia, on the other hand, has genetic markers that don’t match anything my source or I can dig up.  Not a particular ethnicity or any known animal.”

“Ya tried matchin’ her ta an animal?”

The genius shrugged.  “When you’re desperate.  My point is: we have no explanation.  If she’s part of something from Earth then it’s uncategorized in any available database.”

“If?”  Raph paused.  “Are ya suggestin’ Nia’s part alien?”

“Says the mutant turtle.  The Shredder himself was an Utrom, Raph.”

“Yeah.  But for some reason thinkin’ ‘a Nia as an alien seems—”

“Weird?”  Chuckling, Don stretched his arms outwards.  “Agreed.  But the facts are there.  I’m not saying she is alien.  Well, partly.  Her DNA could’ve been tampered with.  Only Gavin can say.  He’s the one who had access to her and Erudio’s labs for years.”

“Didn’t her father try ta diagnose her, not experiment on her?”

“He could’ve done it without Nia’s knowledge.”

“Shit, this is givin’ me a headache.”  Scoffing, Raph returned to his motorcycle’s upgrades.

Donatello watched him replace an old exhaust pipe until the hothead’s taping foot convinced the genius more thoughts weighed on his sibling’s mind.  “Is there something else you want to talk about, Raph?”

Raphael slung the old exhaust pipe towards the Battle Shell.  “Would I keep quiet is there was?”

“Yes.”

“Ya’re startin’ ta piss me off, Don.”

“Everything pisses you off.”

“Get out.”

“What’s wrong with a little guy talk?”

“Mikey got a hold ‘a ya, didn’t he?”

“If I said ‘no’ would you believe me?”

The hothead groaned.  “We ain’t got nothin’ ta talk about.”

Frowning, Don learned forward.  “We could talk about why you weren’t at the Lair today.”

“I already said,” Raph hissed.  His attempts at tightening a washer resulted in broken metal and another curse.

“That was an excuse.”  Instincts alone saved the genius’ skull from a crippled wrench.

“Why are ya pushin’ this?”

“Because you didn’t see Nia’s look of disappointment.”  Though soft, Don’s voice retained an edge that had made his brother sigh.  The hothead avoided Don—an obvious sign that the genius had struck a chord.  “Everyone was there.  Except you.”

Raph remained silent, hands busy with a task that his brother no longer cared about.

“She kept asking about you, Man,” added Don.  “And when you never showed after we called you?  Twice.  She almost cried.”

“It ain’t that big a deal.”

“To you, maybe.  But I think she was looking towards you for strength.  I think she wanted to find this answer out with you there.”

“Has anyone told ya that ya think too much?”

A majority of the genius’ patience had waxed, and it reflected in his glare.  He stood up, blocked all light from Raph’s project, and bellowed, “I’m not shitting you, Idiot!”

“Get the hell out ‘a my way before I make ya!”

“No!  Something’s off and I want to know what.”

“Fat chance.”

“I have a theory.”

“Keep it ta yerself.”

Kneeling, the bō master met the amber eyes that criticized his every move.  “All week, Nia’s been looking your way.  She asks your opinion and no longer flinches every time you move.  And weren’t you the one standing beside her when I drew her blood?”

“So what?”

“You spend hours a night with her, Raph.  If you ask me—”

“Which no one did.”

“If you ask me, Nia’s growing fond of you.  And I think you are of her, as well.”

First, came the shrill scrap of a tool jamming itself in a place it probably shouldn’t be.  Then, came a Japanese curse, followed by Raphael’s shifting legs.  The hothead kept quiet—probably to process what his brother had suggested—then snorted.

“Ya’re way off base,” he said.

“Are you even listening to yourself?” asked Donatello.  “That’s denial!”

“Someone’s gotta watch Anders when she’s topside, right?  Why does that make me ‘fond’ ‘a her is I wanna go?”

“Usually, you aren’t this responsible for, well, anyone.  We could rotated escorts, but you won’t let us.”

“Why would I?”  Raph strained to dislodge his tool, tugging and twisting the hidden object at all angles.  “Mike shouldn’t be out yet, an’ ya work.”

“I take breaks.”

“Rarely.”

“Then what about Leo?  He’s capable.”

Raph scoffed when the tool broke free.  “Anders wouldn’t enjoy time wit’ that stiff.  I’m sparin’ her.”

“Leo and Nia have reconciled as well.  They could have a nice night out.”

“Until Fearless starts talkin’.  Besides, I wanna go topside too.”

“See, there’s the thing.”  For dramatic effect, Don paused.  “You’ve never needed an excuse to leave.  An uninterested Raph would’ve dumped Nia and left.  So what does that say about the Raph who hordes the woman?” 

A ‘clank’ sounded as Raphael jerked upright.  His forehead collided with the Shell Cycle’s undercarriage, and he scooted downward far enough that he could glare without any obscurities.

“I don’t horde her!” he cried. 

Donatello swore his brother blushed.   “What would you call it?”

“Socializin’.  Ya should try it some time.”

“What am I doing now?”

“Pesterin’.  Now are ya done?”

A frown settled on Don’s lips when the hothead leered.  “I’m not trying to humiliate you, Raph.  I’m bringing these things up because I see an opportunity.”

“Wit’ Nia.”

“Yes.”

“Don, we’ve been over this.  As brothers.  An’ we decided not ta get any hopes up, not ta…” Raph sighed.  “Ya’re the one who said any woman who showed an interest in us would only be superficially curious.”

“Nia’s different.”

“’Cuz she’s part alien?”

“No; because she’s accepted you as a person.”

“Woopy-fuckin’-do.”

“Don’t act like that doesn’t mean anything.”

“What do ya want me ta say, Genius?  Ya want a, uh, an emotional confession?  An angsty spiel ‘a how relationships wit’ our kind are doomed, an’ how we’re all gunna end up as lonely, old mutants?  No, thanks.  Been there, done that.”

“Don’t be stupid,” said Don.  “I’m your brother; I can see she attracts you.  Not in the way Angel did, either.  There’s no danger or striking beauty or a parade of feathers.  She’s Angel’s opposite.  You like her for that.”

With a low growl, Raph adopted a new task: polishing his bike’s red body.  “I’ve already taken a chance in love.  That road leads ta ‘a dead end.  If it didn’t work wit’ Angel, what makes ya think it’d work wit’ Nia?  They’re both human.”

Don was powerless against the smile that crept across his face.  “You and I both know your relationship with Angel didn’t fail because of her being human.  Nia isn’t like her.  She won’t challenge you at every turn.  Really; the only thing those women have in common is their unfathomable interest in you.  You”—Don’s laugh left him bitterly—“you’re fortunate.  Finding one woman was a slim chance.  But two?  Do you know what I’d do to be in your bandana?  If I—if she—”

Tightness in the genius’s chest cut off his statement.  To continue would risk tears, so he averted his prickling eyes to the Battle Shell.  The gaze he felt boring into him, however, couldn’t be ignored.

“Ya got something ya ain’t tellin’ me, Donny?” Raphael asked.

Donatello shook his head.  “My point—if there must be one—is that you shouldn’t abused this chance.”

“Fine.  Hypothetically, say Nia’s started ta pique my interest.  How do I know it’s worth the risk?”

“It’s in the small things.  Like when she does something so simple, so mundane, it shouldn’t be considered much.  But it catches your attention anyway, as if she had worked a miracle.  When that starts to happen…you’ll know.”

“Where’d ya learn all that?”

Despite how difficult it was to face Raph again, Donny managed a smile.  “I’ll tell you a secret,” he said.  “I had a chance.  I chickened out.  Now, I feel like I’ve ruined everything.  Don’t make that mistake.”

“Don—“

“The Lair’s security needs upgraded.  I’ll see you later.”

“Wait!”  Raph caught Don’s wrist and forced him around.  “Who is this chick?  Why haven’t we heard about her?”

“You have.”  Don felt Raph’s fingers twitch against the tensed muscles of his arm.  “It doesn’t matter, though.  Apologize to Nia, will ya?”

With one last smile, Donatello removed Raphael’s grip, spun, and then headed for the exit.

**━❖━**

Hunter Mason stood with his arms linked behind him and his eyes fixed on an unimportant spot beyond his office window.  His breath was shaky, yet he maintained composure—a trick he’d learned from his former master, Oroku Saki.

“You’re sure of what you saw, Hunt?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir,” Hunt replied.  The ease in his deep voice made Hun glower.

“All three?”

“Yeah.  Kingston wasn’t around.  And when I arrived, the boys in blue were escorting Rojo, Little Spice, and Bones out in handcuffs.  The black detective was there too, looking chummy with Bones.”

The blonde scoffed.  “After all I’ve done for that boy.”

“Sir?”

“Forget it.  If Bones wants in jail so badly, he can rot there.  He knows nothing important.  Little Spice and Rojo, however…”

“Are part of Project-C.”  Hun sensed the smaller man falter before clearing his throat.  “Right, Sir?”

“How do you know about Project-C?”  Hun twisted towards Hunt. 

His follower grew rigid, yet his dark eyes flashed with anticipation.

Hun grinned.  “Doing research, I see.”

“Little Spice talks.”

“She does have a mouth on her.”

“What should I do, Sir?”

“I have a challenge.  Will you accept?”  Hun’s question was a trap, of course.  Any Purple Dragon would need to agree.  Otherwise, they’d endure one of two possible outcomes: Hunter Mason’s wrath or the humiliation of being deemed a coward.

“What are me orders?” Hunt asked.

 “Break Rojo and Little Spice out of jail.  Leave Bones.  When you return, you’ll have clearance and participation in Project-C.  Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Excellent.  Now go retrieve my soldiers.”


	28. Shell Cycle

 

* * *

 **N** ia’s peripheral vision barely registered a red blob before her hands shot up.  She caught something smooth and hard that could only be deciphered once she dared reopened her eyes.

“W—what’s this?” she asked.

“A helmet, Smart Guy,” Raphael answered.

“But—”  Nia eyed the mutant turtle as he rounded the sofa.  “What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Uh, put it on?”  Raphael rolled his eyes and used the remote to turn off cartoons.

“I meant why,” the artist added, soft voice strained.

“’Cuz ya’re goin’ for a ride.  Get up.”  Raphael grabbed Nia’s bicep.  He pulled her off the couch with ease then began dragging her towards the Lair’s main entrance.

“Wait!”  With a strong tug, Nia freed her arm, yet could do little to fight the blush creeping onto her face.  “W—where are we going?”

“Does it mattah?”

“No.  I mean, sort’a.  I—I—I thought we had to be more careful now that Bishop’s, uh, you know.  It’s why I haven’t asked to go Topside lately.”

“We’re always on the lookout for Bishop.”  The hothead clicked his tongue.  “That don’t mean we got ta stop livin’.  Right?”

Nia squeezed the helmet she held.  “Is it really okay?”

“Do ya trust me?”

The artist stiffed.  Her gaze lifted centimeter by centimeter, yet her head remained downcast.  Raphael’s amber eyes met her, unflinching and cool as they awaited an answer.  Nia sensed a trace of fear in them, just behind the confidence.  It sent a faint pulse of electric shock through the lower part of her brain and left the human’s mouth agape.

“Do ya or don’t ya?” Raphael asked, far gruffer than before.

“Ah, y—yes!”  Nia flashed a timid smile.  “I trust you.”

“Then follow me.”

And so Raphael turned on his heel.  Nia tagged behind him through the front door into the long stretches of poorly-lit tunnels.  When they stopped under a manhole cover, Nia watched, silent, while Raph scaled the rusted ladder like an expert.  He removed the steel plate above before offering help.  She accepted the mutant’s hand with a hot face and swallowed hard once they stood on ground level.

“Where are we?” Nia asked.  She refused to move further into the alleyway because there was no moonlight for direction.

“We ain’t there yet, Anders,” Raphael answered.  He slid the lid back where it belonged then passed Nia.  “This way.” 

The ninja led her towards a metallic building across the street.  He kept an eye on what few lights still worked around them, even if Nia saw little danger in the neglected city block.  Still, she cooperated—up until Raphael forced her through a dilapidated opening at the building’s backside.

A familiar tightness in her neck muscles almost paralyzed her when Raphael shoved into the darkness beyond.  The walls could be any size!  What if she was walking into a tomb?

‘ _Calm down, Nia.  The building’s huge.  Just breathe.  Open fields, Girl.  Open fields._ ’

The artist drew a deep breath, her voice echoing when she asked, “Wh—what is this place?”

“Our garage,” Raphael said.  “One sec.”

Three rows of hanging lights flickered to life with a dull hum.  They revealed what Nia expected of a garage—complete with overflowing tools, tall tin walls, the scent of motor oil and fumes, and a cracked slab of concrete flooring that could house ten busses.  Remnants of colorful graffiti stained various areas, though someone had obviously tried their best at removing the marks.

“We keep it separate from the Lair for safety reasons,” Raphael added.  “It’s still got the same amount ‘a security, though, even if it don’t look it.”

“Is this?”  Nia took two steps forward.

“Our Battle Shell?  Yeah.”

“It’s beautiful.”

Smiling, the young woman approached a delivery-sized van and ran her free hand along the vehicle’s cool surface.  The van held a military-like appearance, yet subtle quirks in its design reflected the personalities of its true creators.  Mostly Donatello.

“Beautiful ain’t the right word, Anders.  Try ‘fierce’ or ‘intimidatin’.”

“So—sorry.”  The artist withdrew her hand then faced the mutant turtle at her side.  “It’s a work of art.  Is this what we’re riding in?”

“No,” Raphael drawled.  “We don’t wear helmets in vans.”

All blood drained from Nia’s face in an instant.   ‘ _That’s right,_ ’ she thought.  ‘ _He did hand me a helmet, didn’t he?_ ’  She’d already forgotten, even if the headgear never once left her grasp. 

The ninja shook his head.  “Ya wanna see a work ‘a art?  I’ll show ya a work ‘a art.”

Nia remained silent when Raphael guided her to the garage’s west end.  There, between the Battle Shell and an unfinished project, a motorcycle rested.  It looked sleek and had been painted a rich red all over its body.  Nia knew next to nothing about motorcycles, but she got the feeling it ran as loudly as Raphael whistled.

“Meet my baby, the Shell Cycle!” he cried, arms outstretched.

“Th—this is what we’re riding?” Nia questioned.

“Beats that musty van.”

“But it’s a motorcycle.”

“Yeah.”  The ninja lowered his arms and groaned when Nia backpedaled.  “Don’t tell me ya got a negative memory about motorcycles too.”

“I—I’ve only ridden one once when I was seven.  I—I remember very prominently lots of screaming and a—a hospital visit.”

“Thought ya trusted me.”

“You?  Yes.  That thing?  Not so much!”

“All the more reason to get on.”

Snorting, Raphael moseyed to a work bench.  He retrieved two leather coats form it—one of which he slipped into—before returning to his motor bike.  He swung a muscular leg over its leather seat, and the bike sunk under his weight.  However, Raph looked unconcerned.  He removed a helmet from its perch on the handlebars then smirked.

“Trust me,” he said.  “Ya won’t get hurt.”

Every inch of Nia protested the idea, yet she moved forward anyway.  Her hands accepted the coat Raphael held out, even though it swam over her figure once zipped.   Raphael then situated the artist in front of him.  To better hear him when he spoke, he explained.  With helmets on, it made little sense as to how they’d hear one another without Bluetooth.  She let the question slide, though.

“Before we leave,” Raphael said.  “Ya got cash?”

“Some from April,” Nia answered, voice muffled by her helmet.

“More than twenty-five bucks?”

“I think.”

“Good.”

“W—why do I need—?“

A sudden roar silenced Nia.  The Shell Cycle vibrated like an earth quake, and Nia’s nails sought traction on anything they could find.

“Those are my thighs!” Raph cried.

But Nia lacked the nerve to release them.  She barely heard the ninja sigh before he leaned forward.  His hands covered hers.  They pried her fingers from his legs then repositioned them on the handlebars.  The very unsteady, pulsing handlebars.  Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea…

“Um, Raph—?”

Nia spoke all too late.  Raphael had already opened the garage door with a remote button and sped into the night streets like a bat out of hell.

**━❖━**

Annabelle Lombardo held little interest in the Mexican dinner her partner had placed on her cramped desk.  After all, how could one have an appetite with their job on the line?  While she had no qualms with being discharged, it was too soon for her to leave the EPF.  She had an agenda to fulfill first…

“Find anything, Ann?” questioned a hoarse voice.

Annabelle’s attention remained on the grid of surveillance cameras that glowed ahead.  “No.”

“Damn.”

“You were only gone a few minutes, Patrick.”

“But I had still hoped something good would pop up.”

“That happens how often?”

“Never.”  Patrick let out a sigh that evolved into a hack.  He then claimed a seat beside Annabelle, where his lanky legs gave the impression of a middle-aged man sitting at preschool desk.  “We’re in deep, Ann,” he added. 

“I know,” countered Annabelle.

“If we can’t find him soon, it’ll be our heads.”

“It’s not just Rizzo anymore, remember?  We found Kingston, but the man’s cracked.  Mister Anders is as defiant as ever.  And now?”  The carrot-top glared.  “Now we have yet another set of targets.”

“Oh, right.  Them.”  Patrick trembled.  “I hate  mutants.”

“And I hate surveillance duty.  Yet here we are.  It’s a waste, honestly; I have so much more to offer.”

“Still upset your promotion was overlooked?”

Annabelle could barely refrain from clenching her hands into fists when Patrick snorted.  “Every time I apply, Bishop denies me.”

“Then give up.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I won’t let that man dictate what I can and cannot do.”  Annabelle’s tone was even and dark.  She scowled at the man beside her then watched a television screen that overlooked Fifth Avenue.

“Whatever floats your boat,” Patrick said, scoffing then hacking.

“That’s the big difference between us, Pat.  You give up where I preserve.  Which is why this will work out in my favor.”

“What do you mean?”

Annabelle sent her partner a smirk then pointed at a television two rows from the top.  “There.  I just spotted two of the three things Bishop wants most right now.”

**━❖━**

“That wasn’t so bad, eh?”

Although Raphael’s face was hidden from Nia’s view, the amusement in his tone told her he smiled impishly.  “It was frightening,” she said.

“But worth it.”

The young woman shook her head once then folded her arms.  Still, she couldn’t fight the smile that overcame her.

At a hundred-and-two stories high, Nia found a sense of release, as if the Empire State Building were a physical drug.  Of all the things they could’ve done, she had never expected this.  She had assumed the mutant would take her somewhere less notable, like a park or another apartment building.  Yet he hadn’t.  He had even been gracious enough to let her buy a ticket and use the elevator to reach the top deck instead of free-climbing the skyscraper like he’d done. 

Yeah; she still didn’t understand how ninjas accomplished such tasks.

“Figured ya’d like this,” Raphael added.  His voice carried from behind.  “Why do ya like heights so much, anyway?”

Nia inhaled, saying, “I—I don’t know.  It just feels like…freedom.”

The artist leaned against the waist-high concrete barrier at her hips.  She scanned the cityscape from wide breaks between the crossed metal that curled to an end above her head.  The new moon had passed three days ago and the skies were overcast, so the city was particularly bright with no competition.

“Most people shiver at the idea ‘a topplin’ over a thousand feet,” Raphael said.

“Motorcycles are scarier.”

Raphael’s responding chuckle traveled.

“Are you moving?” Nia asked. 

“Yeah.”

“W—what about the surveillance cameras and lights?  Wait; can they hear us?”

“Would I suggest we talk here if they could?  Good Lord, woman.  Take three steps right.”

Nia did so, her attention set on the safety fence’s top.  “Are you sitting up there?”

“In a dark spot.”

“Is that safe?”

“Will ya relax?”  The ninja huffed.  “I’ve been doin’ this stuff for years.”

“Sorry.”  Nia’s voice dropped.  “I—I’m just worried.  Michelangelo's told me things that have happened in the past, when you’ve been captured.  I—I don’t want that to happen.”

“We ain’t gunna get caught.  Now can ya just enjoy the view?”

Nia nodded, though unsure if Raphael was watching her or not.  Whipping winds travelled across the observation deck.  They were the only sound until Raphael spoke up.

“Ya know,” he started, “we never finished our game.”

“Y—you mean Twenty Questions?”  Nia’s gaze drifted towards a bulky shadow perched above her head.

“It got late.  What was the tally?”

‘ _No, it got weird then April was kidnapped,_ ’ Nia thought with a bleak sigh.  Racking her brain for the right answer to Raphael’s question proved difficult, so she decided to make up a number instead.

“Ten to thirteen each?” she asked.

Raphael thumped the fence.  “Wrong.  Ya made that number up, didn’t ya?”

“Maybe.”

“Thought so.”

“Like you remember.”

“Excludin’ technicalities?  Ya asked seven.  I asked nine.”

Nia’s eye twitch.  “If you already knew the answer, why ask?”

“Memory test.  Ya failed.”

“You remember our whole conversation, down to the unintentional questions?”

“In a profession like mine, one needs a keen memory.  It can mean the difference between life ‘n death.  I can mostly forget things I don’t care about, but if I wanna remember something, I damn well remember it.”

“So…my words were that memorable then?”

The figure above shifted on his perch.  It drew Nia’s attention, though she soon forced her eyes ahead so those watching the security cameras would remain unsuspecting.

“Ya wanna finish the game or not?” Raphael asked.

“I do,” Nia replied.  “But we only have around fifteen minutes before closing.”

“So stop stallin’.”

“I’m not stalling.  It’s just—“

“Ya got two questions before ya’re caught up.”

“Fine!”  Nia half-sighed, half-groaned.  “Uh…what’s your favorite movie?”

“Easy.  Anything wit’ great action an’ lots ‘a high speed chases.  I love the Quick ‘n Furious franchise.”

“I haven’t really seen any of those.  Are there any superhero movies you like?”

“Ya want that ta be yer second question?”

Nia shrugged.

“Steel Man.”  The mutant’s reply was plain yet interested.  “I also like oddahs.  Commander America ‘n Bulk.  But Steel Man’s definitely my favorite.”

“I like that franchise too!” Nia exclaimed.  “Actually, most of Wonder Comics’ most recent movie adaptions have been good.”

“I just know ‘em by the movies.”

“I—I figured.”

“My go.  Why do ya burn everything ya cook?”

Nia ran a chilled hand down her face.  “Because cooking is a science and I suck at science.”

“Mike calls it an art.”

“Well, I call it a science, whose logic escapes me.”

“Please, don’t ever cook for us again.  I felt nauseous for days after the cookie incident.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t let me eat anything like that again, we’re even.  Deal?”

“Deal.”  The artist smiled, yet that smile died under the seriousness of her next question.  “Raphael, why’d you bring me here?”

“Huh?”

“Why the Empire State Building?”  Nia bit her lower lip then began rubbing her arms.  “I mean, it’s unnecessary.  Not—not that I don’t appreciate it.  I love being here.  But a—anyone could’ve taken me.  I—I don’t want you to do this because you pity me or—or because Mikey—“

“Believe me, neither ‘a those are my reason,” Raphael interjected.

Nia held her breath a moment, still rubbing her arms.  “Then what was your reason?”

“I don’t know.  I just thought we could use a break.  Stayin’ in the Lair is suffocatin’, right?”

“Sometimes.  But I—I don’t want to be burden.”

“If I didn’t wanna come up here wit’ ya, I wouldn’t.”

‘ _Wait, he—he wants to be up here with me?_ ’  Nia’s face burned at the thought.  Her knees weaken and against her will, her heart began racing inside her chest.  ‘ _Stop it, stupid body!  H—he’s being considerate.  Like a friend.  It’s not like he just confessed his undying love.  Ugh, why is my stomach somersaulting?_ ’

“Ya alright, Anders?”

“Yes!” Nia squeaked.  Cringing, she cleared her throat.  “I mean, thank you.  Thank you for tonight.  And for all the other times we’ve gone out.”

“I—it’s nothin’.”  Raphael’s gruff voice sounded muffled.  “We ain’t doin’ much, but this is kind ‘a an apology, I guess, for Thursday.  Don said ya were upset.”

The artist frowned.  “Yeah.  I, uh, I wasn’t expecting you to ditch us.”

“I didn’t—”  Raph stopped himself, sighing.  “Look.  After Don drew yer blood, I couldn’t stop thinkin’ what the results could mean.  It drove me up the wall.  I had ta leave.”

“What difference do the results make to you?”

Shuffling sounded—a rustle of weight that sent slight vibrations through the safety fence.  “Just accept my apology,” Raphael said.  “I never meant ta make ya feel bad.”

Nia wished the mutant would explain further, but since she was also aware any prying would be in vain, she nodded.  “Apology accepted.”

“Thanks.  How much longer we got?”

“Uh”—Nia checked her neon-colored wrist watch—“three minutes.”

“Time for two quick questions?”

“Okay.”

“What kind ‘a art job do ya want?”

The artist smiled.  “In addition to painting, I—I adore concept art.  It’d be awesome if I could be on a design team for fantasy movies.  That’s a high expectation, though.  I’d be happy as an art teacher or even children’s book illustrator.”

“Mike wants ta illustrate kid’s books.  Maybe ya could collaborate.”

“That’d be fun.  We could make the story about a turtle.”

“Yeah.  An ass-whoopin’ turtle.”

“Who carried sais?”

“Only if he’s gunna be cool.”

“I get the feeling Mikey would insist on nunchucks.”

“Go wit’ sais anyway.”

“W—we’ll see.  Now, my last question…”

“Tick, tock.”

“I know!  I know!”  Nia sent the hidden mutant a pointed stare.  “Oh, got it!  Both Michelangelo and Donatello have mentioned your family’s been under stress.  What happened in July that—“

“Wait,” Raphael interjected.

“W—what?  Why?”

“Be quiet.”

“Hey, we agreed on Shin, remember?  I can ask—“

“Shut up!”  This time the ninja whispered harshly.  Nia watched his shaded form lean forward from the fence, peering below.  He cursed under his breath then turned to Nia.  “Get out ‘a the building.”

“Wh—what’s wrong?”

“Go!”  Raphael landed beside Nia, and the young woman didn’t fight him when he pushed her towards the elevators.  “I’ll meet ya at my bike.”

“But—“

“Go!”

After a push Raphael abandoned Nia at the elevator doors.  The artist turned to watch him leave, but the night’s intense darkness only allowed for her to sense him do so.

‘ _What’s going on?   Why did he sound so distressed?  Did he—did he see someone from the EPF?_ ’  Though she’d never dealt with the organization before, their name alone sent chills down Nia’s spine.

Dread knotted her stomach, leaving her fumbling for the elevator button.  She punched it in the end, and when the doors welcomed her with soft a ‘ding’, she dashed inside, again punching buttons.  The machine wavered with Nia’s labored breaths, but a meditative technique taught by Splinter prevented Nia from short circuiting it before it reached ground level.  Her race from the building’s lobby to the multi-story parking garage beside it was by no means record-breaking.  And by the time she paused, she felt lightheaded.  Even so, she continued her search for the Shell Cycle.

‘ _Crap, where was it?_ ’  Nia glanced behind her then sideways.  ‘ _I’ve seen that Subaru before.  I’m going in circles!  Oh, what do I do?  What do I do?  I don’t_ do _stressful situations!_ ’ 

No sooner did Nia prepare for another jog, did a roar echo throughout the lot.  Smiling, she watched the Shell Cycle skid to a haul beside her.  Raphael needn’t instruct her to dig the helmet out of the bike’s saddle bag or climb in front of his tense body.  However, she did hesitate from grasping the handlebars when she spotted blood seeping from beneath Raphael’s sleeve.

“You’re bleeding!” she cried.

“I’ll live,” the mutant snapped, pushing down his helmet visor.  “Give me yer hands.”

Nia obeyed and positioned her arms below Raphael’s—although the sluggish shaking of his head convinced the artist he was unwell.  She flinched as the Shell Cycle rocketed off, tires screeching.  Seconds later, they were free from the parking lot and waved through traffic down Fifth Avenue.

Nia didn’t understand why Raphael would risk the wrath of a traffic cop.  She wanted to suggest he slow down, except a hot flash of light directed at the motorbike’s side killed her intent.  It ate trough the asphalt and left a slender billow of smoke that could be spotted in the bike’s side mirror.

‘ _Was that a plasma ray?_ ’

More beams followed like a rain of hell fire.  Some burned through the duo’s jackets while others melted metal from the Shell Cycle’s frame.  Most, though, descended on unsuspecting civilians.

When it came time to switch roads, Nia’s lungs ceased with fear.  She leaned into the Shell Cycle’s sharp curve simply because that was the direction Raphael leaned.  There was a notable tremble to the mutant’s hands as he straightened his bike, and not long after, his helmet clanked against hers then fell onto her hunched shoulder.

‘ _I—Is he asleep?_ ’

A stone sunk in Nia’s stomach as she twisted her head towards him.   He was.

Gradually, Raphael’s body relaxed against his passenger.  His fingers slipped from the handlebars, which left Nia in control.  Only, she knew nothing about driving, so her instinct to steady them resulted in an askew front tire.  The motorcycle jolted frontward, bucking its rider.  Nia and Raphael rolled to a halt by some newspaper stands, and if the wind hadn’t been knocked out of Nia, she would’ve shrieked at the searing pain that traveled from her right knee, up her arms, and over her left shoulder.

The artist lay on the asphalt until her oxygen returned several long heartbeats later.  She removed her helmet then tossed it away.  Rolling onto her stomach had never been such a daunting task, yet she managed it with tears flowing down her cheeks.  And she barely kept her head up while her hazy eyes scanned the damaged she’d caused.

The Shell Cycle’s dented frame lay lifeless against the sidewalk across the street.  Its slight damage was a positive sign, so Nia found relief in the knowledge that she avoided its totaling.  Possibly.  But her real concern involved Raphael.

Cringing, Nia lifted onto her bleeding hands and knees then sat on her feet.  Her neck cracked as she twisted it around.  To her surprise, Raphael had already begun raising from the street, though his uncoordinated movements made it painfully obvious that he felt like passing out.  He stumbled towards Nia, who steadied him when his knees gave out.

“Raphael!  A—are you—?”

“I’m…awake,” Raphael said.

“Y—you sound like you’ve been drinking.”

“Believe me, that man slipped me that cocktail.”  Raphael tried smirking, but his face barely twitched.

Nia’s grip on him tightened.  “You’ve been drugged.”

“It ain’t…a first.”  Wiping drool from his mouth, the ninja pointed an unfocused finger at Nia.  “Yer drivin’…sucks.  Re—remind me ta never let ya…have the handles again.”

“This isn’t funny!” There was no preventing the new wave of tears and Nia’s stomach tightened until it felt like a ball of lead.  “I—I don’t know what to do.  What do I do?  Who were those people?  And…wait, where—where are they?”

“Blockin’ off the street.  Why do ya think ya don’t see anybody?”

“We’re trapped?”  Nia’s whisper strengthened her tears.

“No.”  Raphael reached inside his jacket, at his hip, and produced his Shell Cell, which he then placed in Nia’s shaking hand.  “I’m trapped.  Y—yer gunna take the exit down that alley on the other side, an’…run like hell ‘til ya find my bros.  I’ve…already alerted ‘em, but Bishop’s prepared.  More than I thought.  I…I need ya ta get ta them an’ tell ‘em ta wait.”

“No.  No, I can’t leave you!”

“Ya gotta.”

“C—come with me.  We can both get out.”

“Nia, I can’t move!”  Raphael’s hands found their way to Nia’s shoulders, their strength weak.  “Ya can barely lift a pencil box, let alone me.   They’ll find us.  Then my brothers.  T—that can’t happen, so go…for all ‘a us.  They’ll get me back.”

The mutant’s eyes burned with such confidence that it couldn’t be overlooked nor ignored. Nia nodded, running a hand down Raphael’s arm, and stood.  A car door slamming shut served as the young woman’s prompt to run, which she did at a speed that would make an Olympian proud.


	29. Cellmate

 

* * *

 **A** gent Bishop flipped a page on the clipboard he held, scanning the charts’ contents.  “How are her vitals, Doctor Gaertner?” he asked.

“Stable, Sir,” said Doctor Gaertner.  The older man—a short male who looked to favor sweets too much—rubbed below his wire-frame glasses.  “However, her brain activity remains static.”

“I see.”  Bishop slid the clipboard back in a clear drawer at the foot of a hospital bed then glanced up. 

In the bed, beneath several blankets, a middle-aged woman laid.  Her features had paled within the last month to reveal a peachy color, but not so much so that she looked sickly.  Rather, her skin and hair retained a healthy glow, as if to assure Bishop of her health.  Even with an intravenous line hooked into her thin arm and a nasal cannula delivering clean air into her lungs, she looked ready to leave the clinical room at any given minute.

“Bishop, Sir?”

“Yes, Doctor?”  Bishop twisted towards Gaertner, who licked his lips.

“The patient’s, uh—”

“Now, Doctor, you did not lie about Misses Anders’ health, did you?”

“No, Sir,” Gaertner replied hurriedly.  Still, he rubbed his hands together several times.

“Then what is the problem?”

The doctor cringed at his leader’s sharp tone.  “Misses Anders is as healthy as can be expected, given the circumstances.  Unfortunately, Sabbatini’s recklessness may’ve cost this woman her livelihood.  It took weeks to counteract the swelling from the head trauma brought by his gun.  And though we stopped it, she’s teetering on the edge of brain death.”

“Will she ever wake?”

“Chances are slim.  And if she does, months of therapy await her.  She may not even walk again.  My concern right now, though, is if her brain relapses.  At this point, we won’t be able to save her.”

Bishop sighed, cracking his neck.    “Sabbatini and his friend Davide paid for their ignorance.  Their boorish impulses are no longer a threat.”

“Why you brought them along when you knew they were recruited with Rizzo, I’ll never understand.”

Bishop glared until the doctor stiffened.  “Call me foolish for hoping the whole lot was unspoiled,” the leader spat.

Gaertner ducked his head, saying, “Sorry, Sir.”

 “Rizzo will be caught.  Soon.  Miss Lombardo and Mister Marrow are hard at work.”

“Annabelle’s still on surveillance?”  The pale doctor frowned.  “That poor girl tries so hard to move up in divisions.  With all due respect, Sir, why haven’t you granted her promotion?”

“In light of recent events, I should be more careful with whom I grant power to.  Would you not agree?”

“I—“  Doctor Gaertner sighed through his nose.  “Yes, Sir.”

“Excellent.  Now what can you tell me about my second patient?”

“You mean your mildly abnormal one or your very abnormal one?”

“The most interesting one, Doctor,” Bishop said with a wide grin.  “Kingston has lost his value alongside his mind.  We will keep him comfortable until he passes from this world.  Meanwhile, enlighten me on Raphael’s progress.”

 “Well“—Doctor Gaertner straightened his posture—“the sedatives have been metabolized from the mutant’s system.  Seeing as how we didn’t want another comatose patient on our hands, we preformed the last procedure with him on anesthetics instead of pumping him full of QNB.”

“So you have the samples I requested?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And how is he recovering?”

“He’s sluggish, but his biting sarcasm hasn’t taken a plunge.”

“Naturally.  Guess if we wanted a more docile subject, we should have taken Donatello.  Or Michelangelo again.  But, beggars cannot be choosers.”

“What do we do with the mutant now, Sir?”

“He is too valuable to toss or kill.”  Stroking his chin, Bishop began pacing along Mia’s bedside.  Then, he snapped his fingers.  “There remains one last piece to this puzzle.  Mister Anders”—the leader’s stare hardened—“is very enduring.  His ‘never’ record may not be broken, so perhaps we need a new means of luring information from him.”

“With the mutant?”  Gaertner scrunched his aged face.  “Do you plan to scare information out of him?”

“No,” Bishop replied, quick.  “Anders has proven fear cannot break him.  Raphael could only…surprise him.”

“Then I fail to understand.”

“There is no need for you to.  Focus on Kingston and Misses Anders.  I will make arrangements for Raphael then head for my appointment.”

“Appointment, Sir?”

“Yes, I have a broadcast to make.”  Smiling, Bishop strolled towards the exit with the grace of a prowling mountain lion.  He bent down so the retinal scan could grant him access, but before he left, he sent Doctor Gaertner a nod.  “Listen for it.  It should be enlightening.  Good day, Doctor.”

**━❖━**

Agent Bishop came to Gavin Anders’ solitary cell every day.  Every day, he asked the same thing.  And every day, he received the same answer.

Never.

As if a little torture would change Gavin’s mind.  Did Bishop think him weak?  What a chancer.  The Doyle’s had treated Gavin worse in his childhood than that maniac ever could.  Besides, nothing exceeded the helplessness of watching harm befall his girls.  Any cuts, bruises, or broken bones paled in comparison to that.

Gavin sighed.

Parts of him believed he’d rot there—neck surrounded by steel, body hunched in a corner.  His muscles itched for exercise, though his will to move had died long ago.  The only belief that preserved his fighting spirit was the one that told him Mia lived and Nia remained out of the madman’s grasp.  Hopefully, forever.

‘ _Even if I never see her again, least I know Bishop doesn’t have her_.’

Clank.  Scratch.  Clank.

Gavin’s brows furrowed at the strange noises outside his cell.  He raised his head and watched as the vault-like door swung open to reveal three figures.  Gavin’s sensitive eyes squinted at the light from the hall beyond, but he needn’t see to recognize two voices.

“Knock it off, Freak, before we decide to take that arm!”  Richard Evens sounded every bit as foolish as his wide-set eyes and bad haircut made him look.

“Better not, Ricky,” Jonathan Murphy said, snorting.  His nasally voice grated on Gavin’s brain like metal on glass.  “Who knows what kind of infection you could get from its blood.”

“Guess you’re right, Johnny.  Best not risk it.”

“Let’s just chain him up and leave like Bishop wanted.”

“Alright, alright.”  Richard’s boots thumped against the sterile floor in unison with his friend’s.  A putrid scent filled the redhead’s nose, almost choking him, although he was unsure whether it’d come from the sentries or the newcomer.

“Have fun with your cellmate, Gavin,” Jonathan sang in an offbeat tune.

“Yeah, he bites,” Richard added.

The duo then exited the cell, laughing all the while.  They left the prisoners in silence once the door closed with a hiss.  Moments passed.  Gavin’s eyes readjusted to the cell’s lone light, though the newcomer’s appearance remained a mystery.

‘ _What’s Bishop’s aim?_ ’ the man thought.  ‘ _What purpose could a cellmate serve?  Is he a spy?_ ’  The man huffed at the notion, and his gaze adverted to its usual position—his feet.

“Ya’re just like yer daughter, ya know that?” the cellmate asked.  His voice was slurred, deep, and thick with a Brooklyn accent that echoed off the clinical walls.

“What are you talking about?” Gavin countered hoarsely.  “Who says I have a daughter?”

“Relax, Mister Anders.  I ain’t a spy.”

“And I should believe your word?”

The cellmate scoffed.  “Guess I can’t blame ya there.  I don’t trust people much either.”

“So you understand my hesitation.”

“I do.  That don’t change the fact that I’m a friend ‘a Nia’s, though.”

Gavin hummed.

“I am,” the cellmate added.

“Nia has few friends, Sir.  Were you one of them, I’d know.”

“Only I befriended her after ya’ll separated, so.”

All air escaped Gavin’s lungs, and he spoke before thinking his question over, “You know what happened to Nia after the fire?”

“Would ya like ta know?”

“N—No.”  Gavin shook his head clear of any silly hopes.  “You must be lying.”

“Think so?”  The cellmate shifted—his chains scratching the floor.  “Her full name is Nia Rosaline Anders.  She’d twenty-years-old with no high school diploma.  She can’t cook worth a damn.  Has this hellish ability for bottlin’ her opinions an’ wears the weirdest ass tights.  She’s a comic geek who dreams ‘a workin’ on art concepts for movies.  Should I go on?”

“How?”  Gavin’s fingers curled into fists.  “How would you know any of that?”

“She told me.  As I said, we’re friends.”  Another silence passed until the cellmate groaned.  “Still don’t believe me?”

“My daughter’s an introvert, Sir.  She speaks of her dreams only to family.”

“Well, my bro Mikey has sort’a taken Nia under his wing.  Our sister April, too.  An’ my father.  Ergo, she’s part ‘a the family.”

“April?”

“O’Neil.  Yeah.”

Gavin narrowed his eyes at the shaded area where the cellmate sat.  “I’ve known Miss O’Neil for years.  She has no brothers.  Just a sister.”

“We’re special relatives.”

“Meaning what, Sir?”

“Before we get inta that”—the cellmate huffed—“one thing needs cleared up.  Stop callin’ me ‘Sir’.  A’right?  I didn’t think anything could be worse than Nia’s ‘Mister’.  Guess I was wrong.”

“What should I call you then?”

“Hamato, Raphael.  Or Raphael Hamato.    Eastern or western way, it’s yer choice.  Regardless, call me Raphael.”

“Hamato?  I thought you said your sister is April.  Shouldn’t you be Raphael O’Neil?”

“That has a stupid ring, don’t it?  I also said we’re special relatives.  Now, ya wanna know what happened or not?”

Gavin sucked in a calming breath that did little good.  “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth.  “Tell me.”

“My bros, Mike ‘n Leo, saved your daughter from Kingston that night,” Raphael said.

Shit.  That horse-faced whanker had gotten Nia after all?  But how?  Gavin had seen her escape.  Alone.  He had pushed her out the door himself.

“Don’t panic,” added Raphael.  “He didn’t have her long.  Afterwards, Nia come ta April.”

“Why her?”

“Nia listed her as an emergency contact.”

“And Miss O’Neil accepted?”

“Surprised?”

Hands on his tender knees, Gavin stared at his shackles.  “A bit,” he grumbled.

Raphael scoffed.  “Ape’s not the kind ‘a person ta deny someone help.  Besides, Detective Reese insisted.”

Reese?  Did he mean Hugh Reese?  What would the odds of that be?  Gavin clicked his tongue and massaged his scarred knuckles.  No, he’d rather think of something else.

“So,” he started, “she’s with April?”

“It’s probably best I don’t tell ya exactly where she is.  Ya know, considerin’ where we are.”

Gavin hated the logic, but knew his cellmate was right.  If they were to exchange information, it should be what Bishop already knows.

“Can you at least tell me if Kingston is still out there?” asked Gavin in an undertone.  “Is he looking for her, too?”

“He was,” Raphael answered, grim.  “He dug a deep grave tryin’ ta get her back.  For reasons he won’t ever be able ta change, at that.”

“His family,” Gavin whispered.

“Ya know about ’em?”

“When that sort’ve thing happens, it makes headlines.  But only in certain circles.  I’d probably suffer a psychotic break, too, if my wife and child committed suicide.”

“Suicide?  Thought the death certificates said ‘accidental deaths’.”

“That’s the coroner’s opinion.  Few believe it.  After all, a blind woman and her terminally-ill niece would have no business on a roof without some”—Gavin licked the lips—“intent.”

Raphael blew a breathy sigh, silent.

“I take it Bishop has Kingston now,” the redhead continued.

“Ya’d be right.  An’ I noticed something.”

“About?”

“You.  Ya haven’t questioned why Kingston would want Nia.”

“Whatever you believe you’ve found, there’s no proof.”  Gavin was careful to keep his tone as even and void as possible. 

The cellmate laughed, though not in mock or condemnation.  ‘He _honestly finds this funny?_ ’

“We know a lot about Nia at this point, Mister Anders—quirks, faults, an’ all.  Maybe not their entirety, but enough.  Catch my drift?”

“No,” Gavin spat.  A lie.

“Ya can’t pretend forever.  Hell, I’m sure even Bishop’s aware of everything by now.”

“Aware of what?”

“That’s Nia’s adopted.”

Gavin froze.  “Who told you that?”

“Detective Reese,” Raphael replied.  “Everyone knows now.  Includin’ Nia.”

“What?”  Gavin roared through the cell.  He would’ve stood if possible, but had to settle for a glare, which Raphael may or may not sense.  “You had no right to do that!”

“Don’t preach about rights,” Raphael countered.  “Her right was ta know!”

“You aren’t her father!”

“So?  Whatever she is—mutant or alien—has caught Kingston’s an’ Bishop’s attention.  An’ not knowin’ why has only made Nia confused ‘n stressed.  Is that what ya for her?”

“What I want for her is a normal life.”  The redhead’s voice lowered along with his gaze.  “Nia frets.  A lot.  So I’ve been trying to make sense about her on my own, but…”

“Ya don’t believe in aliens ‘n mutants?”

“Such things belong to my daughter’s comics.”

“Then ya’re in for a surprise.”

Gavin hesitated to raise his head.  Rattling indicated Raphael was moving.  His feet were silent against the floor, so he emanated a ghost-like presence while stepping into the light that served as their artificial sun.  At first, Gavin accepted the cellmate’s discolored skin as a play on light.  However, the longer Raphael stood still, the surer Gavin became that the deep green was indeed his true coloring.

That is when Gavin’s voice left him.

“Ya definitely raised Nia,” Raphael said.  “Please stop eyein’ me.  Ya’re makin’ me self-conscious.”

“You—you…you’re…”

“A mutant?”

“I—”

“Am speechless?”

“How?”

“TCRI Mutagen.  My bros are similar, in case ya were wonderin’.  Now ya get why we’re special relatives.”

“Wait.” Gavin scrambled to sit straighter.  “Nia’s been staying with you?”

“We’ve been protectin’ her, Anders.”

“You’re the type of thing she needs protection from.”

“Seriously?”  Raphael’s green face twisted into a sneer.  “I was hopin’ ya weren’t one ‘a those people.  Nia turned out not ta be.”

“What people?”

“The close-minded kind.  The kind who can’t see past color or shape.  The kind who live in fear ‘a difference.  The kind—Gavin Anders—that makes life for my clan so risky.”  Raphael broke his glare to roll his eyes, turning part-way before pointing a finger at the redhead.  “An’ ya know what?  Nia now falls under that same category, whether she looks like it or not.  How do ya feel about that?”

“I don’t,” Gavin countered, monotonous.

“Well, ya better start feelin’ something.  Cuz whatever ain’t human inside Nia has taken a turn for the worse.  Her migraines never left her.”

“You’re lying.  I cured her of those.”

“Nia let ya believe that.  She didn’t want ya ta worry.  Guess that’s another thing ya’ll got in common.”

“Dammit.”  The man rubbed his face, groaning between the knees he had drawn closer to his shoulders.

“My clan’s been doin’ its best for yer daughter.”  Voice lowering, Raphael sighed as well.  “We ain’t the bad guys.  Ya know who is.  An’ if anyone should teach Nia how ta avoid Bishop, it’s us.”

“Why’s that?”

“My clan’s history wit’ Bishop goes back eight years.  We’re skilled at hidin’, especially when he’s distracted by oddah projects.”

“If you’re so skilled, how come you’re here?”

Raphael didn’t reply immediately.  His unnatural eyes focused on Gavin then adverted.  “I’m here so Nia don’t got ta be,” he grumbled.  “She ain’t exactly…strong-minded.  I can’t imagine what bein’ in Bishop’s hands would be like for her.”

“Nia was supposed to come here?”

“Not exactly.  See, she ‘n I were Topside—“

“Topside?”

“Above ground.  Just listen.  We were out.  We were spotted.  An’ though I tried ta lose those EPF bastards, they trapped us.  Okay, so Nia’s crappy drivin’ an’ my drugged ass didn’t help.  Ya gotta teach that girl how ta use a motorcycle, by the way.”

“Bullocks.  Nia wouldn’t step close to a motorcycle.  She’s terrified of them.”

“I convinced her, whether ya believe it or not.  Ya should be proud at how she’s grown.”

“That’s funny.”

“Yer daughter’s growth is funny?”

“No.  You are.”  Gavin smiled tartly.  “You’re the one who sounds proud.”

“I—”  Raphael snorted, avoiding the redhead as he returned to his cell corner.  “I respect anyone who tries ta overcome their weaknesses.  That’s all.”

Gavin hummed in false agreement.  “So, Nia escaped the trap?”

“Yeah.  I was drugged.  Couldn’t move.  Had ta force Nia ta leave me.”

“Force?”

“Why the surprise now?”

“Nia’s self-preservation tends to outweigh everything.  I find it hard to imagine someone forcing her to run.”

“Like I said, she’s grown.”  Raphael sounded distant, tired.  Gavin could relate.  “She’s safe, though.  Don’t worry, Anders.  Ya’ll see her soon.”

“How can you be so certain?”

The mutant chuckled.  “My bros will find me.  We always find each other.  An’ when they get here, they’ll find ya too.  Makin’ the connection?”

“I almost wish I could believe that.”

“Just ya wait, Anders.  Ya’ll see.”

The cell grew quiet and still.  Gavin heard light snoring from Raphael not long after the human closed his heavy eyes.

‘ _Great,_ ’ he thought, leaning against the wall.  ‘ _Of course Nia couldn’t bonded with a normal guy.  It had to be a_ mutant _.  How am I supposed to deal with that?_ ’

 **T** he shoji screen slid shut behind Hamato Leonardo with a ‘thunk’ before he ventured towards his goal.


	30. Courage

 

* * *

 **S** plinter’s eyes darted between Leonardo and Nia, a frown on his worn face.  The two had yet to come to a compromise over the recent matter of Raphael, and he had to admit the argument was waxing on his patience.

“It’s a bad idea, Nia.”  Leonardo glared, though Nia—strangely—stood her ground.

“But Raphael—“

“Is hardheaded and will survive until we find him.”

“But I—I have to be more useful than this!”  The young woman’s body trembled with her oncoming tears.  “I—I _have_ to something.  Please, Leonardo, let me help.  It’s my fault he was taken, anyway…”

“No,” the Jonin countered, stern, “Bishop’s wanted us for years.  Your presence made no difference.  In fact, if it hadn’t been for you, both Don and I would’ve been captured.  You did the best you could.  Now leave the rest to us.”

Nia’s vision quickly fell to the Lair’s living room rug, her tears now painfully evident.  Splinter reached for her hand—since she stood so close to the armchair he sat in—but the young woman avoided him, hugging herself.  He sighed at her hardened stare; so much like Raphael’s when things did not go his way.

“He’s strong, Nia,” Leonardo said after a small pause.  “He’ll be fine.  I promise.” 

‘ _I wish he would not make such promises,_ ’ Splinter thought as Nia nodded then sniffled.  ‘ _Even so, Nia-san needs comfort…We all do.  Raphael, my son, please remain in high hopes until we find you…_ ’

“What’s our plan then?” Michelangelo asked.  The youngest mutant relaxed on the sofa with his head dangling from the cushion’s edge and his legs curled over the furniture’s back.  Splinter knew such a silly position was an attempt to ease anxiety, though it remained in the Chūnin’s tone.

“One thing’s for sure,” Donatello added beside his orange-masked sibling, “Nia’s not being used as bait.”

“Sorry, Nia”—Michelangelo smiled grimly—“I know you think it sounds like fun, but that’ll have to be a last resort.”

“It won’t have to be,” Leonardo interjected as he turned to Donatello.  “Donny, you’ve finished the upgrades to your computer by now, right?

“Yes,” the mechanic replied softly.

“Are you—“

“I have a program running that’s designed to shift through satellite imagines across the globe.  When we have a hit on Bishop, we’ll know.  However, Earth is very big.  And we have only one computer.”

“True…The two of us can search for clues on foot meanwhile.  I think it’s about time we called April and Casey as well.  Maybe even Reese.”

“Wait; you’re not leaving me here!”  Michelangelo cried.  Growling, the youngest Chūnin sat up so fast that he hissed with pain, clenching his side.

Leonardo grimaced.  “Donny says it’ll be two weeks before you’re ready to fight again, Mikey.”

“At least two.”  Donatello frowned as he spoke.  “Ideally, it should be three, making the twentieth your six week of staying out of the field.”

“Don,” Michelangelo whined, his baby blues narrowed, “I-I can’t sit on my shell while everyone else is searching for Raph!”

Donatello sent his baby brother an even stare, saying, “Mikey, you’re lucky you’re walking right now.  That stab wound was awkward and deep.  Outside may’ve healed, but you have to be careful about the inside.  You could permanently damage your muscles if you stress them, or worse still, reopen the wound all together.”

“How can I reopen it when I’ve healed on the outside, Genius?”

“By causing internal bleeding,” Donatello snapped.  “Does that sound like fun?”

“No,” the youngest grumbled.  He folded his arms then sunk back into the sofa, gaze set on the obnoxious advertisements on television.

“Thought so.”

“My sons.  Nia-san.”  Splinter could no longer keep himself from the conversation.  He paused to ensure he caught the attention of everyone before continuing.  “A distraught mind brings with it a fierce storm.  We must calm ourselves before our stable footing is swept from beneath us.  I know well that waiting feels much like drowning.”  Slowly, the rat drew in a deep breath then released it through his nose.  “However, we will not remain helpless.  We will find Raphael.” 

Splinter’s dark eyes roamed the room, giving each member in it a pointed, sure stare.  Donatello and Leonardo nodded their belief, while Michelangelo and Nia found each other’s solemn gazes.  The Jonin recaptured his master’s attention with a subtle movement of his hand, but a high pitched ring emanating from the televisions cut off what he wanted to say.

“Turn that damned thing off, Mikey!” Leonardo demanded, covering his ears in unison with everyone else.

“I can’t; the remote just died!” Michelangelo yelled.  Still, he attempted to use the tiny machine.

“Oh, for the love of—“ Donatello silenced himself then rolled his eyes.

He left the sofa, marching purposefully towards the wall of screaming televisions, which all showcased an emergency broadcast screen (save for two broken ones on the right side).  When he lifted a finger to the main power button, the pitch suddenly stopped, leaving the image of a tall standing Bishop in place of the colorful stripes.  Splinter’s breath caught in his throat as the man gave a devious, knowing smile.

“Good afternoon, my dear citizens of the United States.” Bishop’s voice resonated loud and clear through the Lair, as if he stood in front of them.  “Do not be alarmed.  This is an important announcement, but directed to a very particular group…who I do hope is listening.”

“That son of a—“

“People“—Bishop spoke over Leonardo’s growl—“Every day we are surrounded by threats.  You do not know of them.  Neither can you sense them.  But they are there, lurking in the darkness.  It is my job, my life’s wish, to keep you safe from them, and rest assured I am successful.”  The man paused, allowing his words to sink into the public’s mind like poison.  “Regrettably, there are times where I have to make…compromises—times where…I must exchange one evil to gain another, more dangerous, one.  It is a terribly hard decision to make, yet a necessary one.”

“What’s he talking about?” Michelangelo questioned.

“To this unmentionable group,” continued Bishop, “I offer an exchange.  I have something you want while you have something I want.  Together, our wants can be met.  After all…she is not _really_ one of your own, is she?”

“She?  He’s talking about Nia?”

“Quiet, Mikey,” Leonardo hissed.

“Meet at Central Park, tonight, if you are interested,” Bishop said.  He paused again then removed the sunglasses from his face to reveal a pair of dark eyes that bore deeply into Splinter’s soul.  “Otherwise, I can make no grantees of safety for him…or others.  Thank you for your time.  I do hope you make the right choice.”  That being said, the screen returned to the emergency broadcast then changed to its usual programming.

The group was left stiff, silent.  Splinter himself found his attention drifting into the unknown until Nia’s fleeing figure broke his trance.  The wizened rat twisted his head in time to see the human disappear behind the rice paper doors of his bedroom.  Whether her decision was intentional or subconscious, Splinter could not say.  Either way, he excused himself from the still-quiet family and calmly made his way into his bedroom. 

The master found Nia kneeled on a zabuton by a sea of lit candles, her back arched, her breathing unsteady in spite of her obvious fight to calm it.  Frustration surrounded her in a bubbling field of Chi that raised the hairs on Splinter’s body like a frightened cat as he neared. 

‘ _She must calm herself,_ ’ he thought, claiming a zabuton beside her.  ‘ _Lest she risk a boiling over of her Chi._ ’

Splinter closed his eyes to meditate with his latest pupil.  “Nia-san…are you blaming yourself?” he inquired. 

“H—he’s being kept because of me,” Nia whispered in a broken voice.

“No, child.  Raphael is being kept because Bishop wants him.  That man has always wanted me and my sons.  How can you blame yourself for something that has always been?”

“I—I guess…I can’t.”  The female sighed, and her Chi’s tension lessened slightly.  “Still…wha—what about Bishop’s other point?”

“He did make a few, Nia-san.”

“I mean the one—the one about me…not being one of your own.  It’s true.  I’m not.”

“Do  _you_  feel that is true?”  Splinter ensured his emphasis on ‘you’ would not go unnoticed.

“I…I don’t know how I feel,” Nia muttered.  “I—I can’t understand any of it.  Why would Raphael let me leave him?  Why would he  _choose_  to stay?  He should’ve escaped…I wouldn’t have blamed him if he did.”

“You told us Raphael had been drugged.  He could not run, even if he wanted to.  Correct?”

“I meant before.  H—he had a chance to leave after finding out what kind of…army Bishop sent.  He…he didn’t have to come back for me…”

“It is not in Raphael’s nature to abandon.”  The sides of Splinter’s mouth twitched into a small, proud smile.  “He is a protector.  If he knows one is dependent on him, then he surely sees to it that no harm reaches said dependent.  This includes his family, his allies, and yes, you, Nia-san.”

Nia shifted on her zabuton with a sigh.  “Maybe I’m strange.  I—I’ve always thought people to be self-preserving.  The ones I’ve met…have always had their own agendas, so I decided to keep to my own.  It—it was safe.  Until I met your family, I’ve never seen such dedication and love.  I’ve never seen”—her voice lowered into a soft whisper—“someone so willing to sacrifice themselves for another.  I’m _not_ his family.  How could he do it?”

“Yūki,” Splinter replied without hesitation.

“Yūki?”

“The Bushido teaching of courage.  Each of my sons posses courage, but Raphael…Raphael glows with an unwavering sense of it.  At times it blinds him like a sun, but I still count is as his most valuable trait, next to Chūgi, his loyalty.”

“I—I don’t know courage…”

Splinter opened his eyes, a sigh rising in his chest.  He faced Nia, though she kept her gaze set on a candle flickering on the other side of the room.  With a gentle paw he captured the young woman’s hand, which trembled along with her Chi.

“Courage comes in many forms, Nia-san,” he said kindly.  “There is the courage to protect others.  There is the courage to tell the truth.  There is the courage to face one’s fears.  There is courage to do the right thing.  Child”—he used his free paw to force the human’s eyes on him—“I refuse to believe you are not familiar with at least one of these.

“Take your claustrophobia, for instance.  You have had the courage to fight it these past three weeks.  That is no minor accomplishment.”  The rat attempted to pass on a smile, yet Nia remained impassive, her vision dropping.  “Nia-san, you have a special strength in you, I can sense it.  You simply need to believe in it, and it will flourish like a blossom.  I promise.” 

Splinter rose to his feet stiffly and cringed at the creaks his bones made.  “I will go see Leonardo to hear his plan.  You should remain here and meditate.  It will do you good.  When a plan has been fleshed out, we will surely tell you.” 

Nia did not respond, but Splinter had expected that.  He flashed a kind smile she could only sense then exited the room, leaving Nia to reign in her distraught Chi.

**━❖━**

Bishop’s dress shoe tapped impatiently against a rubber floor mat.  His lean body stood upright—just short of hitting his head against the roof of his surveillance van—and a scowl contorted his face as he checked his wrist watch.  Again.  It read a quarter past two in the morning, well beyond a reasonable meeting time for someone of the mutant variety.

So where were they?

“Told ya they wouldn’t come,” a gruff voice drawled from beside.

Bishop whirled to face his captive that was strapped snug to a metal table, his actions tense yet controlled.  The not-so-ample space of his vehicle made it difficult for the man to walk a straight line to the back, but he managed to do it without tripping on any thick cables or the legs of the few EPF soldiers that accompanied him.

He leaned forward so he was eye level with Raphael.  “If they ever wish to see you again, Turtle, they will.”

“After eight years ‘a dealin’ wit’ ya, ya think my clan would so willingly do what ya ask?”  The mutant scoffed.  “Fat chance!”

“What I  _think_ , Raphael, is that your family has on numerous accounts demonstrated that they value the life of one of their own more so than they care about risks.  Families like yours can be predictable if you control the right conditions.”

Raphael glared.  “All ya control are a few mindless drones an’ yer own twisted sense ‘a public safety.  The people don’t even want yer so-call help!  Just ask Mister Anders.”

“You know”—Bishop grinned slyly—“that mouth of yours has been nothing but trouble.  Maybe before I drop you off, we should fix that.” 

Raphael’s narrowed eyes betrayed him.  They waved with fear, darkening, and the EPF leader grinned at the mutant’s momentary lack of words.

“No, thanks,” Raphael finally said.  “I’m sure ya’ve taken enough ‘a me.”

“For now.”

“Sir, someone’s coming!”

“It had better be the right one this time,” Bishop muttered.

Grimacing, the man straightened himself then turned to determine which television screen his female soldier referred to.  She pointed to a center screen out of nine at the van’s front side that showed an undefined figure searching through tall trees. 

‘C _overage from the fifth avenue side?_ ’ Bishop thought, drawing closer.  ‘ _That section is not near a mainstream area like the other false calls have been.  Still, it is obviously not a Hamato since they would not be caught openly wandering.  And any decent cop would have a flashlight._ ’  Bishop sighed and halted a good foot before the screens.  _‘It could be Miss Anders.  I will not know until she nears a streetlamp, though._ ’  He glared at the figure on screen.  ‘ _Come on, move left…There!_ ’

“Find yerself another friend, Bishop?” Raphael taunted.

“No,” Bishop answered.  He twisted so the mutant could witness the full tartness of his smile.  “I found yours.  Why not greet her?  She seems to be looking for us awfully hard.”

“She?”

Bishop bypassed Raphael’s flush expression and pointed towards two EPF members sitting in jumper seats.  “Gag him.  Restrain him.  Keep a firm hold during transport.  And you two”—he indicated to another set of soldiers—“make sure Mister Anders is ready as well.”

“Gavin’s here?  Since when?  What do ya plan ta do wit’ him?”

Unable to ignore such noise, Bishop’s attention resettled on the mutant.  “Raphael,” he said, breathy, “I exist to keep humans safe, even those who are too ignorant to gasp the kind of danger I keep them from.”

“Yeah, ‘cuz ya took such great care ‘a him.”

“I did what was _required_ at that time.  If he had been cooperative from the start, Mister Anders would have saved himself much trouble.  Still, though he clung to the disillusion of that girl being his child, I did not kill him.  He is human, after all.  Thus, he will be released once I have what I need.”

“An’ what about—?”

“There is no time for further questions.  The three of us can talk more in a few minutes.  Agent Barrett.  Agent Pires.”

The two soldiers did not require any further instruction; they stood from their seats and began situating Raphael for transportation immediately. 

Bishop nodded at them.  “I’ll go ahead and lead her to a section of forest between Center Drive and South Park Drive, a ways above Sixty-Fifth.  Meet us there.  Agent Paris and Agent Mahoney, you know where to take the Anders family.”

“Yes, sir,” the duo answered in unison.  Then they, too, left their previous posts.

After a smug smirk directed towards Raphael, Bishop exited the van through a slim, hinged door. He immediately headed east through the small forest and inhaled deep breaths of muggy air left behind from yesterday’s downpour.  His made no attempt to muffle his footsteps—they proudly and deliberately crunched leaves that had fallen from their mothers within the new autumn season.

Minutes later, his trained ears detected another set of footsteps—these ones hesitant and lighter than his.  Perfect.  The man smiled in anticipation then rounded a mature Oak trunk to a small clearing.  There, he found a hunched, dark-haired female peering between a pair of one-year-old saplings that were growing beside an active lamp post.

“Hello, Miss Anders,” he said smoothly.

Nia spun with a gasp and almost stumbled into a cluster of bushes in her attempt to keep herself steady.  The tan man kept his composure, though he felt a great urge to roll his eyes at her blatant silliness.

“Uh…A—are you…Bishop?”  Her voice was soft and obviously laced with fear.

“Yes,” Bishop replied plainly.  He took easy, long strides towards her.

“I’m…I’m here for Raphael,” she somehow managed through quivering lips.  “Where is he?”

“What?  No ‘hello’s?  No ‘how are you’s?  What a rude child.” 

Nia continued to avoid the man until her back met with the lamp post’s shaft.  Then, she swallowed hard and delivered a glare that Bishop found far from threatening.  “I want to see Raphael.  Where is he?”

“We have to meet him.  Will you follow me?”

“W—why can’t you bring him here?”

“Because I have arranged a meeting spot for our little group.  It would be wise to keep Raphael as far away from the public as possible, would you not agree, Miss Anders?  I mean, we are near a main road.”

To Bishop’s relief, Nia was not so silly that she would fight sound logic.  She nodded—albeit after a minute of contemplation—and so the agent motioned for her to follow him.  She kept a three yard distance behind, but at least she did not lose his lead.  Together, they trekked into a denser part of the forest before entering a large field, with Raphael in the center. 

“See?  There is your friend now.” 

“Raphael!” Nia called.  She disregarded Bishop entirely and darted forward.  Only when the flanking agents holding Raphael used their hands as barriers, did she stop.  “Raphael, are you hurt?”

“Anders, wha—what are ya doin’ ?”  The mutant glared, jerking his shoulders in a vain attempt to free himself.

“I—I’m—“

“Stop.”  Amber eyes glanced up, eyeing Bishop.  “A little privacy would be nice.  Do ya mind?”

A chuckle vibrated in the man’s chest.  He grinned in return, even when his four subordinate agents sneered.  “I suppose I can grant such a simple request.”

“But, Sir,“ Agent Pires interjected, “is that really best?”

“Are you questioning me?”

“N—No, Sir.  Sorry, Sir.  I just…”  Pires’ vision dropped to the grass.

“Raphael is bound by chains on his wrists, knees, and ankles.  If he chooses to do something stupid, he knows we have guns at the ready.  Do you not, Raphael?”

The mutant simply scowled.

“Release him.  We will wait.”

Bishop turned with a smirk to guide his agents away.  Behind him, he sensed a rude hand gesture from the relatively freed Raphael, which had the EPF leader laughing all the way to the clearing’s edge.  The man then turned again, to face the duo from his new spot amidst a patch of weeds. 

“Do you have an earpiece on you, Agent Barrett?” he asked the only female agent present.

The brunette nodded and reached into a pouch on her uniform pants for a small device that looked like a hearing aid.  She relinquished it into her boss’ hand without question, an action rewarded by an approving smirk.  Bishop slid the tiny power switch on then placed the device in his ear.  The volume required minor tweaking and soon he was tuned into the conversation many yards away, as if they stood right in front of him.

“—ink Leo would actually agree ta somethin’ like this!”  Raphael kept his shell towards Bishop and obscured most of Nia, but the refrained relief in the mutant’s hushed tone could not be mistaken.

“H—he didn’t.” Nia replied, timid.

“What do ya mean?”

“They…they didn’t come Raphael.”  The earpiece could barely detect the female’s soft tone.  “I’m here alone.”

“…Are ya  _stupid_?” Raphael whispered harshly.

“What?”

“Why—I—ya—okay…”

“R—Raphael?”

“Are ya  _really_  stupid?”

“Raphael, I—“

“What do ya think ya’re gunna do?  Huh?”  The mutant jerked his hands up and shifted his body just enough that Bishop could witness Nia’s mild glare.

“Help, of course!” she snapped back, her voice rising.  “When I left, they still hadn’t come up with a plan.  I  _had_  to do this.”

“Anders”—Raphael sighed—“they got me restrained wit’ guns pointed at our heads.  How do ya think we’re gunna get out ‘a here?”

“We’re not.  You are.”

“Come again?”

A bittersweet smile spread across Nia’s lips.  “I—I won’t get out of here.  When Bishop has me, he said he’ll let you go.”

“Alright; I get that ya’ve never dealt wit’ Bishop before.  But from what my bros ‘n I have told ya, ya gotta know he’s a complete nut.  He won’t let us  _both_  go.”

“There was no other choice.”

“Yeah, there was!”  Raphael stomped a foot the best he could with his ankles chained so close together.  He shifted his weight again, this time obscuring Nia from Bishop’s studious eyes completely.  “Ya coulda waited for Fearless ‘n Brainiac ta come up wit’ another plan, an’ kept yerself out ‘a it.  Ya coulda just let my clan do what it does best.”

“So you wanted me to sit by while you remained in Bishop’s hands?” 

Raphael took a startled step back—no doubt from the intensity of Nia’s broken tone.

“I couldn’t, Raphael.  I couldn’t!  Leonardo told me the same thing, and I didn’t believe his words either.  Just the thought of what he could be doing to you…I couldn’t bare it.  I had to do something.”

Bishop’s stomach curled at the sickening care in the female’s words; it sounded too much like she had deep feelings for the beast.  They must have struck Raphael as well because he faulted, the tension loosening from his arm muscles.

“I—I know this wasn’t the best thing to do,” Nia continued softly.  “But…it was the right thing.  It’s what would help your family.”

“Nia”—Raphael had obvious trouble speaking—“ya don’t got ta make any sacrifices for us.”

“Why not?  You all have for me.”

Raphael paused, and Bishop could only assume he must have been gawking.  “Nia—“

“I talked with Mister Splinter,” the young woman interrupted.  Her voice had regained its softness.  “He taught me of Yūki.”

“Is that what ya think this is?  ‘Cuz ta me it’s plain stupidity.”

Nia offered a breathy laugh.  “It’s exactly what you did for me when were trapped Saturday night.”

“This is completely different.”

“How so?”

“For one, _I_ did it.”

“Th—that’s not a good reas—“

“Enough talking!”  Bishop finally spoke and discreetly removed his ear piece, placing it in his suit pocket.  The duo turned their attention on his stoic face as he neared.  “I have been extensively gracious in indulging your wishes.  Now, it is time for mine to be granted.  If you would, dear?”

The man offered Nia an open hand—not because he wished to touch her, but because he wished to rub salt as far as he could into Raphael’s already wounded pride.  ‘ _That is right, Turtle,_ ’ he thought when the pale young woman accepted.  ‘ _You are utterly useless at the moment and can do nothing about it.  At least there is more than one silver lining in releasing you._ ’

He grinned.  “I thank you for your cooperation, Miss Anders.  It has made this negotiation much smoother than it could have been.”

“Negotiation?  More like blackmail!” Raphael spat.  He snarled at Barrett and Pires, who captured the mutant’s large biceps in wait of future orders from their boss.

“Raphael, please stop,” Nia whispered.  She kept her hand in Bishop’s grasp when she twisted to give the beast a smile.  “You’re going home.”

“Listen to the girl.”  Bishop chuckled.  “You should feel fortunate.  You managed to keep all your organs, right?  I believe.”

“You son of a—!“

“Agent Pires, the tranquilizer, if you will.”

Agent Pires wasted no time in reaching inside his uniform jacket for a hand gun.  He raised the machine to the struggling mutant’s arm then shot once.  It left a small dart that the soldier cleanly removed after a brief moment.  Raphael growled in response, shaking his head.  In seconds, he was on his knees, his vision glazing over.  And Agent Pires pushed him on the ground once he began drooling.

“I hope your family comes soon, Raphael,” Bishop said with a sadistic grin.  “Central Park can be dangerous after dark, though I am sure you know that already.  Move out.”

“Y—you’re just leaving him there?” cried Nia shrilly.

Her hand twitched then attempted to slip from Bishop’s grip.  The man held fast, however, to the point where he heard a bone crack in one of her fingers.  The young woman screamed, choking on sudden tears.

She had to take a moment to regain her breath.  “You can’t… _leave_ him there!”

“I will leave him where I wish, Miss Anders.  Besides, the Hamatos undoubtedly noticed your absence by this point and are on their way.  What you ought to worry about is yourself.”

Bishop effortlessly suspended the female by her broken hand so that she was eye level with him.  He did not wince or cringe at her whimpers and noticed that Raphael squirmed weakly where he lay in the background.

“You, Miss, are going to help me with a little problem.  And possibly confirm something.”  He sniggered.  “Welcome to the Earth Protection Force.”


	31. July 20th

 

* * *

 **A** deathly silence had settled into the Lair.  There were no grunts of frustration or dull smacks against a punching bag emanating from the dojo. There was no hum of a master computer or the repetitive clinks of a keyboard.   Not even the droning sounds of the game show channel or soap operas sung their usual background noise because the televisions weren’t turned on.

Why would they be?  No one there wanted to watch it.  Leonardo had never been fond of television like Michelangelo.  Besides, Splinter required his full attention—regardless of how hard the master tried convincing him otherwise.  What were a dozen cups of tea and a few concerned words anyway?  Certainly they weren’t enough to warrant disconcerted sighs, like the ones Splinter had been giving for the past two hours.

“My son,” Splinter said, a paw raised, “I cannot possibly drink any more tea.  I feel there is enough in my body to float a boat.”

“Forgive me, Otōsan,” Leonardo mumbled in reply.  He withdrew the ceramic cup he once offered then placed it in the small space between his folded legs and his father’s futon bed.

“Leonardo, why not take this cup for yourself?”

The words hadn’t been a true question, Leonardo knew, so he slowly brought the cup to his lips, sipping.

Splinter sighed.  “Do not lose faith, my son.  Your search tonight was not successful, but tomorrow will be a new day.”

Suddenly, the Jonin set his cup down again and frowned.  “It’s been nine days and we’ve had no leads.  The closest we ever came to one had been when we found that tracker under Raph’s skin before we brought him home.  But the moment it was removed, it self-destructed.  Don’s checked him over three different times since then with no luck.  There’s nothing else we can trace…”

“We will find another way,” said Splinter softly.  “No situation is truly impossible.”

“This one is, Sensei.  Bishop’s covered his tracks far too well.  He’s gone and I’ve…failed.”

“We all fail, Leonardo.”

“Not as often as I have this past year,” Leo snapped, glaring.  “It feels like everything’s gone downhill since July.”

“My son”—Splinter spoke with the care of a comforting parent and placed a paw on the Jonin’s kneepad—“your nature is to bear responsibility.  It has sculpted you into a fine leader over this clan.  However, this trait of yours has grown into a stumbling block recently.  You have tried to endure _too much_  responsibility that is not your own.  Fate, Leonardo, is not always kind, and you cannot take blame for its misfortunes.”

“ _Fate_  isn’t what killed that mother and son,” whispered Leo harshly.  “My poor judgment did.”

“If you must blame anyone, let it be those Purple Dragons—the ones with clubs, and the chains, and the guns.  You did everything you could in your power to protect them.”

“If that is the extent of my power…then I’m _ashamed_ at how weak I am.”

The old master narrowed his eyes then shook his head twice.  “Do not confuse failure for weakness, Leonardo.  You cannot deem yourself weak because you did not expect their arrival.”

“I should’ve better adapted to their presence.”

“You adapted as well as the situation would allow.  Not a single man or woman on this planet can control a full battle.  The Purple Dragons are responsible for their own doings.”

“Even so, I should‘ve—“

“You ‘ _should have_ ’?  Leonardo, what happened to that family was tragic.  And I grieve with you.  However, you must accept that sometimes you cannot save everyone.  You are only one person.”

“I…I didn’t just fail the Summers, Otōsan.”  The mutant’s voice broke.  “I failed our clan…my brothers…”

Splinter remained silent in his wait, so Leonardo continued, his vision set on his clenched fists resting in his lap.

“I failed to guide them through trouble.  I failed to keep their confidence intact and…keep their fear away.  Raph still wakes up from nightmares at least twice a week.  He thinks I don’t notice.  I do.  Don works to avoid the same thing, while Mikey…”

The blue-masked mutant inhaled sharply, though it did little to ease the tight knot in his stomach.  “Mikey injects himself into danger just so he can…redeem himself.  He’s gone on his own twice and almost gotten himself  _killed_.  Otōsan”—the addressing left Leo’s lips as nothing more than a croak—“I thought if we helped Nia, if we were able to restore her to her normal life, th—that I could regain what my brothers and I’ve lost.  Like…she was a test to prove were aren’t failures, that we can help, that…what we do brings a positive change to this city.”

Leonardo couldn’t fight the urge any longer.  The moment his father rested both paws on his shoulders, his dam crumbled.  And within seconds salty tears rolled down his cheeks, falling like tiny waterfalls on his fists.

“Leonardo…”

“Was that a stupid…way for me…to think?”  Talking was difficult for the Jonin with his throat closed so tightly.

“No, my son,” Splinter whispered.  His voice shook as well, like he was about to cry too.

“I’ve just…failed everybody.  Nia.  Her parents.  April and Casey.  Mikey.  Don. Raph…You.”

“No,” the father breathed, “no, Leonardo.  You have not failed me.  And I know your brothers and friends feel the same.”

“Even if they do…I don’t.”  Leo could no longer speak; his throat denied him the privilege.

And so, silent, Splinter captured his shaking son in a tight hug that broke his resolve not to sob.

**━❖━**

Donatello kept his presence hidden from a small group inside the Metropolitan Hospital room by standing on a thick ledge outside the grand stone building.  His large feet and bulky carapace made the task difficult, yet years of Ninjitsu practice and an overcast night gave him the confidence to remain there for whatever time would be required.  So long as he kept this breath quiet, he could clearly hear the conversation within since the room’s single pane window had been left cracked for a cool breeze.

“How are his vitals, Jane?” a low, feminine voice questioned.

“Not good, Silvia,” another female voice responded—this one much higher in pitch.  “He’s been slowly bleeding out for the past nine days.  I think this may be his last night.”

“I see…”

“Wh—what a terrible way to go.  I wish he would let us help.”

“I know,” Silvia said with a sigh.  “But we can’t operate on a terminal patient who doesn’t want us to.”

“That’s what makes it even sadder.  This is suicide…”

“Come one, Jane, we have our rounds to continue.”

Donatello waited for the ‘click’ of the hospital room’s door before opening the window further.  He entered without a sound, and padded his way to the bed adjacent to the west wall.  A rolling chair had already been placed at the bedside, so he immediately sat on it, sighing.

The faint beeps of the patient’s heart monitor had become a familiar tune for the mutant.  After all, he’d been visiting this patient every night for the past week.  It felt right; no one deserved to die alone, even the crazies of the world.  That is how Donatello viewed the situation, anyway.

“Hello, Mister Kingston,” Don said kindly.  “I hear this may be your last night.  Is that what you’ve been waiting for all this time?”

His only reply was that of the heart monitor.

“I don’t blame you,” continued Don.  “Family’s everything, isn’t it?”  The mutant sighed.  “I know I’ve said it many times before, but…I’m sorry you couldn’t save Olivia.  I’m sorry your family was taken from you.”

Beep.  Beep.  Beep.

“You know…you aren’t the first tragedy we’ve seen this year.  You’re the second, actually.  Would you like to hear about the first?”

Beep.  Beep.  Beep.

Donatello nodded as if he’d received an answer then drew in a shallow breath.  “My brothers and I were on a routine patrol.  Took down a couple of muggers earlier in the night, so Raph was complaining about needing a bigger challenge…He got just that.  Near the end of our patrol, we came across a, uh, a parking lot, near the Hudson docks, filled with Purple Dragons.  They were loading unmarked materials from ships into vans.  Probably drugs.  We still don’t know…”

Beep.  Beep.  Beep.

“Anyways, we couldn’t let that stand.  We split up to start taking them down.  It was tedious, for sure, but we just kept knocking them out, one after another.  Non-stop.”  Donatello snapped his fingers several times then paused.  “We did that until there were only a dozen or so left…the high-ranked dragons, the ones trained personally by Hun.”

Here, the Chūnin sighed grimly before speaking again.  “I…I can honestly say I wish Hun and the Shredder had never met.  Because of their previous alliance, the brute has a better understanding of how to run a crime syndicate.  To his favorites, he gives personal training.  That training makes our patrolling much harder.  Raph claims it gives him a challenge.  But Leo and I agree: the less we have to fight, the better.  Where was I again?”

Beep.  Beep.  Beep.

“Oh, right; Hun’s favorites.  Uh…it’s a little hazy, honestly.  Raph tried to take them head on.  Leo demanded he pick a partner instead.  Our leader went after him personally, so I fought alongside Mikey.  I remember…always turning around and having to bock someone.  The amount of effort I put it felt like it was for an army of thousands, not a group of ten or twelve.  Somehow, I switched partners with Raph.  Leo was with me and Mikey was with Raph.  We finally narrowed the group down to five when things took a turn for the worse…”

Beep.  Beep!  Beep.

“We were exhausted and preoccupied.  We didn’t even notice the woman and child who’d come to retrieve their car.  One of those, ‘wrong place at the wrong time’ kind of situations.  I don’t think they even realized what was happening until the mother was captured by two PDs, guns at her head.  Raph…managed to grab the boy, pushed him towards me.  Th—the look on the child’s face will never leave me.  His brown eyes weren’t wide with fear.  They were wide with…relief.  ’Are you the Phantoms?’ he asked.  I only nodded, knowing it was a reference to what the city papers call us.”

Beep!  Beep.  Beep!

“Raph didn’t wait for Leo’s signal like Mikey and I were doing.  He was closest to the mother, so I think he determined he could disarm the PDs holding her before anything happened.  They shot him in the foot, and two of them tackled him to the ground.  If we were in a tight spot before then this was—this was an…impossible spot.”

A tight chest forced Donatello to pause, so he could catch the breath that was quickly leaving his lungs.  He rested his head in his hands for a moment then sat upright again, saying,

“You know that spot well, Mister Kingston—when you have to do absolutely  _anything_  to save your family.  Leo was panicking.  I know he was.  The PDs demanded we switch Raph with the kid to taunt us.  We were…stumped.  We had to get Raph back, but…we also couldn’t let a kid get hurt.  I sensed Leo was going to make the switch.  Raph did too.  An—and that’s why he decided to get on his captors’ bad side.”

Beep.  Beep.  Beep!

“Cursing, struggling—he did everything he could to be ornery.  He screamed for them to let the woman go.  She was crying…so hard.  And kept repeating to us ‘Please, don’t let them hurt my baby!  Please, don’t let them hurt my baby!’

“Raph…He was going to get himself shot, so we’d have an opening.  He, uh, he almost succeeded too.  He got their attention and Leo instructed Mikey to get the woman.  He told me to stay with the boy, though I regret that…I wasn’t paying much attention to him.”

Beep.  Beep!  Beep.

“I don’t know when Mikey reached her.  All I remember…was what happened with Raph…and the boy.  Raph was protecting his mother, so the boy…rushed forward to protect him.  I—I barely registered that he’d left my side when they shot him five times.  All in the torso.  I remember the mother’s deafening scream chilling me to the bone as she left Mikey’s gasp to tend to him.  They shot her as well.  Then left…”

Beep.  Beep!  Beep.

“I’d never seen so much blood in my life.  And I froze—I mean, utterly froze.  Leo told me later that he’ had left to make an anonymous nine-one-one call.  I don’t recollect that.  I just…watched Mikey and Raph hold these dying forms of a mother and child.

“Did you see your family dying, Mister Kingston?  If…if it felt like that to watch a stranger die, to witness something so surreal, so—so stomach-turning then…I can see why your mind broke.  I—I probably wouldn’t be able to bare it either.  No, I know I wouldn’t be able to.  That—that’s just too horrifying…”

Beep!  Beep!  Beep!

Donatello held his breath and stood as Kingston’s heart rate rocketed.  He made no motion to help; he knew the man wouldn’t want it.  So, he forced himself to remain still, to watch.  The human’s long body convulsed for several moments then eased into a rest, just like his heart.  A long, constant tone from the monitor signified his passing, and Donatello rested a gentle hand atop Kingston’s cold one.

“Goodbye, Mister Kingston,” he whispered brokenly, “I pray you find peace with your family.  You deserve it…”

**━❖━**

 “Konbanwa, Mia-san,” Michelangelo sung with a grin.  He skipped closer to the woman’s hospital bed and kept one hand as far behind his carapace as possible.  “I’ve got a special delivery—fresh from Central Park.  Ta-da!” 

Mikey revealed what he’d been hiding: a small bouquet of flowers.  “I’ve got you some Daisies or Daffodils or Marigolds or…something.  I just know they’re yellow flowers!”  The mutant gave a laugh, just under the loud threshold.  “It’s a, uh, hello present.  I haven’t been able to formally introduce myself because, well, I don’t feel like I can say anything in your husband without him pointing towards the window for me to get out.  Nia’s said she learned her manners from her father, but during the few times I’ve met him, he’s been everything except polite.  Makes me wonder if she’d meant you instead of him.  Did she?” 

Mikey received no reply.  But what reply could one expect from a comatose companion?

The mutant sighed.  “Anyways, I’m glad the doctors finally convinced Gavin to stay at a hotel for sleep instead of hogging the couch here.  He’s looked like death—no offense—and I’ve been itching for a chance to talk with you.  Don’t worry, though, he’ll be safe.  My brother Raph’s escorting him.  Besides, Reese offered police protection…though he refused it.

“You know, I think they like each other—Raph and Gavin—if their glares are any indicator.  Unfortunately, I don’t think Raphy Boy be back in time for this meeting.  Don, either.  He’s in the hospital too, but visiting another patient.  As for Leo…he’s at home.  If he isn’t patrolling, he’s tending to Splinter.

“Wait a minute!  I haven't introduced myself yet.  And here I am rambling.  Sorry!”

Immediately, Michelangelo turned to Mia’s end table and added the stolen flowers to a plethora of existing ones in a slender vase there.  He gave his handiwork a curt nod when finished—his gaze lingering on the South American statue beside it—then scanned the dark room for a seat.  After shifting through two single chairs that he could barely squeeze into, Mikey settled for moving a three-seat couch until it was a foot or so from the human’s bedside.  Then, he sat, clearing his throat.

“Hello, Misses Anders,” he said, “my name’s Hamato, Michelangelo—er, Michelangelo Hamato.  I’m a friend of Nia.  She’s been staying with my clan while we figured out some crazy things.  And she’s told me a lot about you…Uh, great; now that I’m here, I’m not really sure how to say this.” 

Mikey released a nervous laugh that choked him.  He tried to keep his smile bright, but it slowly died in the passing moments, his blue eyes fixed on the human’s unconscious form.

“The truth is, we no longer have Nia,” he started grimly.  “The man who came to your apartment is named Bishop, and Nia traded herself to him last week so—so we could have Raph back.  We didn’t let her go.  She left without speaking to anyone.  I think she’s been hanging out with Raph too much…

“We’re out every night looking for her while on patrol, and Detective Reese has officially made her a missing persons case.  He’s been recruiting as many cops as possible to track Bishop, but…I think the presence of authority’s made him burrow deeper.  I—I don’t think we’ll find her until Bishop wants us too.  I’m sorry…”

With a shaky sigh, Michelangelo leaned back and settled deeper into the plush cushions.  His prickling eyes remained on his clenched fists because he couldn’t face Mia.  Even though she was comatose, her features void of emotion, the mutant felt as if she were judging him, criticizing him for not ensuring Nia’s safety.  Much like Gavin did every chance possible.

“Want to know something silly?  I made a promise to myself.  A—actually, it’s a rather selfish promise, but…I’ve been trying my best to honor it.  See, I—uh…dammit, this is still so hard to think about.” 

Closing his eyes, Mikey inhaled in hopes of easing his tightened chest.  “Almost three month ago…my brothers and I ran into some trouble with Purple Dragons.  It got bad, real fast.  And by the end…I held a dying child in my arms.  He—He was no older than ten and in so much pain.  I…Leo left to call for help, but I knew…I knew he wasn’t going to live.”

The Chūnin took another breath.  “It’s—it’s surreal to watch the eyes of a dying person.  You can’t even begin to imagine what they see, what they think.  He must’ve died so frightened…in the arms of a monster.  Wh—when I witnessed that sliver of life leave  his eyes, I swore to myself that nothing— _nothing_ —like that will happened again in my presence.

“I know one can’t make a promise to stop death.  That’s why it’s silly…and selfish.  I can’t do that.  I can’t…watch death.  It hurts too much.” 

Mikey finally lifted his gaze, tears on his face.  “His name was David Summers.  And his mother’s name was Ellen.  She died that night, too.  R—Raph…Raph had been the one to hold her.  That was one July twentieth my family and I will never forget.  Just like we won’t forget Nia.  We’ll keep searching as long as we need to.  We’ll find her, Mia-san.  I promise…”

**━❖━**

“Alright, Kid.  I’m safe…you can leave now,” a stern voice said.

Raphael lacked the necessary decency to face the man who’d just exited the bathroom and spoken to him.  “This is some ritzy room,” the mutant commented offhandedly.  “Must be nice havin’ such quick access ta yer bank account after bein’ dead for so long, eh, Gavin?”  Snorting, Raph arched his tense body against the sofa in the hotel room then lowered his eyes as he took another swig of Scotch from the bottle in his hand.

“Who gave you permission to access the wet bar?” Gavin snapped.  The redhead quickly found his way from the bathroom doorway to Raphael’s side, but Raph jumped from his seat before the bottle could be taken.

“Don’t be such a cheapskate.  Ya book a hotel like this an’ can’t even spare some booze?”

“I could spare it for someone who  _deserves_  it,” the man spat at the now wandering Chūnin.

Raphael halted by the television stand then twisted to deliver Gavin a pointed stare.  “An’ the guy who made sure ya didn’t collapse from Metropolitan ta here ain’t deservin’?”

“That was overkill; I would’ve been fine on my own.”  Again, Gavin lunged for the bottle and failed.  “I’m a damned doctor, too!”

Raph rolled his eyes.  “Gee, I forgot.  So if ya collapsed, ya could ‘a just fixed yerself right up.”

“Don’t you have a home to go back to?” questioned the man through clenched teeth.

“Yeah.”  The hothead revealed in the burn of another swig then wiped his mouth.  “But I think I’ll hang out here for a bit.”  His voice lowered.  “Least until sunrise.”

“Look”—Gavin crossed his arms and glared—“maybe my wife could tolerate some deadbeat mooching off us, but not me.  You have no right to be here.”

“Who are ya callin’ a deadbeat?”

“You.  What makes you think you can come in here and take what you want?”

Huffing, Raphael conquered the few strides required to stand in front of the tall human.  “Hey,” he snapped, jabbing a thumb towards his plastron, “this _deadbeat’s_ been workin’ his shell off for yer daughter!  A little Scotch shouldn’t be a big deal.”

“Well, it is!”

“Why?”

“I said it before; you haven’t deserved it.”

“Why not?  ‘Cuz ‘a yer stay wit’ Bishop, ya’ve been confined ta a hospital for days.  Even now, the docs say ya need more time ta recover, but ya’re too damn stubborn ta listen.  Meanwhile, my clan ‘n Reese have been turnin’ New York upside-down in search ‘a clues.  Me too, regardless ‘a how weak an’ strange my body feels.  How could ya say _any_ ‘a us don’t deserve a drink?”

The redhead smiled spitefully.  “I’ll tell you what.  I will personally hand you some Scotch when you actually  _find_  my daughter.”

Raphael’s thick fingers twitched against the brown bottle in his hand.  His grip on it tightened as his eyes narrowed, so much so that he could hear a faint ‘crack’ from the glass.  Gavin straightened his body—probably so Raph could feel the full force of their height difference—but the mutant didn’t move under the intense emotion of the human’s green eyes and deep frown. 

He simply stared back, unflinching.  “Ya talk about us bein’ undeservin’ when in reality ya’re the undeservin’ one,” he said, low.  “A father should be more grateful ta the guys dedicatin’ themselves ta helpin’ his daughter.”

“But you aren’t searching for me, are you?  You’re searching for yourself.  How can I be thankful to anyone with such selfish intents?”

A startling laugh had Raphael severing his stare.  Perhaps it was the alcohol affecting him, breaking down his resolve, but Gavin’s question was simply hilarious.  “ _I’m_  the selfish one?” he managed to ask through small pauses of breath.  “This comin’ from the guy who isn’t open ta sharin’ his kid wit’ anyone, save his wife.”

“Where’d you get a ridiculous notion like that?”

“How about from how strongly ya fight ta keep oddahs away from her?”

“Not all others,” Gavin quickly spat.  “Just your kind.”

“My kind?”  Immediately, Raphael’s features darkened.  “Do ya mean my charmin’ personality or…green skin?”

“Both,” the human whispered, and for a moment, Raphael remained unmoving.  His chest tightened like his fists.  Another ‘crack’ reached his ears, yet he paid it little mind.

“Ya know,” he started, soft yet strained, “Nia would talk highly ‘a ya.  It made me think that maybe, maybe, ya’d be another ally.  I understand yer frustration—believe me, I do—but I think Nia would be ashamed ta hear ya right now.”

Gavin snorted.  “How presumptuous.  You believe after only a month you know my daughter better than me?”

“Well, yer own assumptions have all fallen through.”  Raphael rolled his eyes then paused.  Slowly, the corner of his mouth quirked upwards, and he faced Gavin with an eerie calmness.  “I think ya’re scared.”

“Scared of what?” the man hissed, his scowl deepening.

“Plenty of things, I’m sure.  But mainly, ya’re scared ‘a what Nia will think now that she knows she ain’t fully human.  Ya’re scared she won’t wanna live wit’ people anymore, live wit’ ya.  Ya’re scared she’ll choose us over ya, ain’t ya?”

“I have nothing to fear from the likes of you,” Gavin countered with a sneer.  “The only reason she stayed with you was because she was desperate and frightened.  When we find her again, she won’t have to worry about such things anymore.  She’ll be back to normal.  And no longer require your assistance.”

“Now who’s the presumptuous one?”

“I don’t presume.  I know.”

“Just like ya knew bein’ self-servin’ ‘n distrustin’ would remain a constant?  A person like that…wouldn’t sacrifice themselves for anyone.”

“And look where such decisions landed her.”

A pause silenced the room before another ‘crack’ could be heard—this one much more prominent than the last.

Raphael snarled at Gavin’s glare and demeaning tone.  He stepped closer to the human, lining his plastron with the man’s torso, and attempted to control his breathing.  “Don’t look at me like it’s my fault!  I told her she had the stupidest idea, but she went through wit’ it anyway.  She made her choice.  Somehow, I get the feelin’ she didn’t make many of those while growin’ up.”

“You—”  Gavin’s voice finally broke, his stoic expression returning.  “You need to get out of this room.  Now.”

“That’s what it is, ain’t it?” Raphael pushed.  He refused to move.  “Ya’re scared ‘a her growin’ as a person.  Yer scared she won’t need ya anymore.  Yer scared ‘a her bein’ like us.  All this time, ya’ve tried ta eradicate what ain’t human about her an’ failed.  Maybe that ain’t what she needs.  Maybe what she needs is ta accept all that she is—non-human side ‘n all.  Maybe” –the Chūnin’s voice descended into a whisper—“I’ve help her more in a month than ya _ever_ have in sixteen years.”

Swoosh!

Raphael’s impaired instincts couldn’t alert him in time to dodge Gavin’s strong right hook.  A stinging pain in his jaw is what confirmed the action, and by the time the red-masked mutant landed with a dull ‘thud’ on the carpeted floor, Gavin had already begun walking away.

‘ _That seals it_ ,’ Raph thought as he picked himself up.  ‘ _I’m a hundred percent right._ ’

Sneering, the sai master retrieved his Scotch bottle, which had spilt a notable amount of liquid on the white flooring, and brought it to his bleeding lips.  The alcohol stung the cut inside his cheek, yet he swallowed the mix of metallic blood and tart drink with no qualms.

“Hey, Gavin!” he called out loudly.

Gavin turned.

“Ya want yer Scotch back so badly,  _take it_!”

Without pause, Raphael chucked the bottle with all his strength—right towards Gavin’s skull.  The man barely evaded it by falling backwards, though he couldn’t avoid every shard from the glass that shattered against the beige wall.  A few pieces imbedded themselves in the man’s boney cheeks, leaving small trails of blood to drip down his face.

He glared at Raph, yet the mutant could muster nothing more than a disappointed frown.  Wordless, Raph left the room through the open window then headed for home.


	32. Found

 

* * *

 **A** gent Bishop’s grin was faint, yet filled with the upmost delight.  ‘ _Yes_ ,’ he thought, his dark eyes skimming a pile of papers scattered about his desktop, ‘ _everything is how I suspected—down to her last chromosome.  How funny.  I was only there to recruit Mister Anders, and yet something more valuable made itself know: a descendent…_

 _‘I wonder what would happen if I gave her back to them.  They surely would not hold a warm welcome for her like those turtles._ ’  Pausing, Bishop laughed then shook his head.  ‘ _No.  I will return nothing of theirs.  They have been trouble for me for the last fifty years…Really, it feels like she will be the closest I will ever get to them._ ’

“Agent Bishop, Sir?”

A soft knock against his office’s doorframe drew Bishop’s attention to Doctor Gaertner.  “Come in, Doctor,” the tanned man said pleasantly.

“You look in high spirits, Sir,” Gaertner commented while stopping by his boss’ desk.  “How is your body fairing?”

“Fantastic!”

“So the serum’s bugs have finally been worked out.”

“At last.  Working from the source is always more efficient than working from a cheap copy.  My body’s break down has successfully been hindered.  I will no longer have to transfer my consciousness.”

“That’s good to hear.  I admit: after day twenty Stockman and I were beginning to doubt if Miss Anders’ special anti-bodies—the IgRs—would work in your favor.  But we were able to turn that around in just under five days.  Thanks to Miss Lombardo.”

“Miss Lombardo?”  Bishop heatedly rose from his sleek office chair and glared.  “You allowed Miss Lombardo to work on this project?”

“Not exactly, Sir,” Gaertner replied, flinching.  “I was stuck on how to utilize the IgRs without them degenerating you anymore than they already had.  They’re…strange little organisms.  Modifying them causes fractionation, and finding the right elements to keep them stabilized required information on Patient Lan-04.

“In fact, since she’s a hybrid means the IgRs aren’t as developed as a pure blood’s.  And you know the troubles we had before.  I only asked for another’s point of view because I grew stagnant in my own thought.  Annabelle provided that insight.  Why do you act as if she’s going to poison you?”

“That is none of your concern, Doctor,” the leader countered coldly.  “What should be your concern is your job.  You do value it, right?”

“Of course, Sir.”

“You should be grateful I am in such a good mood.”  Bishop rounded his desk to stand before the fat doctor.  “Have you preserved the blood I asked for?”

Gaertner nodded.  “Two and a half pints, as requested.  We are also prepped for your experiment.”

“Good, good.  And Agent Mahoney?  How is he?”

“He’s…alive.  I believe he’ll recover.”

“Don’t sound so depressed, Doctor.  You said he’ll live.”

“It’s not that he’ll live,” Gaertner grumbled.  “It’s that you used him as a test dummy for the serum.”

A hard look overcame Bishop’s face.  “Disobedience is punishable.  He had _no_ orders to release Kingston along with the Anders family.  He did that out of his own sentiment.  Now, he knows better.”

The doctor sighed.

“You are dismissed.  Give the word to agents Murphy and Evens that they may leave.  Surely those idiots can handle a simple drop off.”

“Are you sure about this?  What if you need more blood?”

“We have enough to synthesize more.  Or least enough to tide us over while we work on Patient Lan-04.  There is no cause for concern.  Besides”—Bishop smiled deviously—“this experiment will work in our favor on multiple accounts.  I highly look forward to it.  Now go, Doctor, and continue your next project.  We have no moment to lose.”

“Yes, Sir.”

**━❖━**

“Hey, Ape?  Ape.  April!”

April lifted her head with a start, blinking.  Her attention adverted from the menu she loosely grasped to a dark-skinned man ahead of her.  It took a second, but she soon realized Hugh hadn’t spoken.  It’d been Casey, who sat beside her in the restaurant booth.  She flashed her boyfriend an apologetic smile, though the buff man shook his head when she did.

“The poor girl’s been waitin’ on yer order, Red,” Casey said.

April turned her gaze to the table’s end, where a young teenager stood, pen and paper ready.  “I’m sorry.  I’ll just take a water.”

“April.”  Casey’s tone was stern and earned a sigh from the woman.

“I’m not hungry.”

“She’ll have a chicken wrap ‘n a small fry.  Lots ‘a mayo.”

“Okay,” the waitress replied, collecting the menus from the table.  “I’ll be right back with your orders then.”

“Thanks,” Hugh called to the retreating waitress.

“I don’t want to eat, Arnold,” April hissed.  She crossed her arms then glared at her boyfriend’s soft stare.

“It ain’t matter ‘a wantin’,” the blue-eyed man retorted.  “It’s a matter ‘a needin’.  Yer diet’s been so poor lately, it scares even _me_.”

“Casey has a point,” Hugh interjected.  “I know nothing seems appetizing right now, but starving yourself won’t help.”

“I know,” the redhead muttered.

“Then eat,” Casey snapped.  “I don’t wanna see ya get sick.”

“I’m _not_ going to get sick.”

 “Come now, you two; we don’t want to be kicked out of the restaurant, do we?”

“No,” the couple replied in unison, avoiding Hugh.

“Missing person cases often run cold,” the detective added in a grimmer tone.  “But I never lose faith in their possibility of being solved.  We’ll find a way to track Bishop, and get Nia back.”

April frowned.  “So we’ve been saying for almost a month…”

“And I still believe it.”

“That’s because you don’t _know_ Bishop like we do.  He’s a maniac, Hugh.  And hides as good as the guys.  He won’t be found unless he makes a mistake, which doesn’t happen often enough…”

“Everyone slips eventually.”  Somehow, Hugh sounded assured.  “It’s life.  And when it happens, we’ll be ready.  Much of the team has lost interest, though.  Officers Chang and Jennings have been reassigned to a lead in the jailbreak of Livino Mejía and Amanda Hall.”

“Who?” Casey asked.

“Rojo and Little Spice,” Hugh continued.  “The two Purple Dragons who were going to take April.  They broke out last month and no one knows how.  Anyways, of the original fifteen members, we’re down to three.  Officer Williams, Detective Erlich, and myself.  Kyle Erlrich’s been investigating disappearances for years.  He’s as determined as me, though his interests don’t necessary lie with Nia.  I think Blaine’s just enduring….”

“It’s so hard keeping up the drive,” April commented.

Then, the group grew silent.

“Uh, here’s your food.”  The group’s waitress hesitantly interrupted some time later.  She quickly placed three plates of food before their respective owners and smiled.  “Can I get you anything else?”

“No, thank you,” Hugh answered kindly.

The teenager nodded then left for another table when April refused to pick up her chicken wrap; the mere sight of it turned her stomach.

“April, please…for me.”  Casey’s voice was pleading.

The redhead knew she’d give into his will the moment she made eye contact, so she sighed in submission before facing him.  “Only a few bites.”

“Works for me.”  The dark-haired man smirked prior to taking a large bite out of his double bacon cheese burger.

“After this, I’m going to walk through Central Park,” said April once she swallowed some of her chicken.

“Again?” Casey questioned—mouth full.

“Actually, that sounds like a good plan.”

The tan man downed his food, eyeing Hugh.  “Ya would.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that ya ain’t good for the obsessive side ‘a my girl’s nature.”

“Being thorough and being obsessive are two separate things.”

“Not wit’ ya two.  Ya’ve got ta have that place memorized wit’ how many times ya’ve searched it.”

“Casey, it’s our choice,” April snapped.

“An’ that’s fine,” Casey retorted, sneering.  “It’s just that—Ape, I can only stand seein’ ya walk in there wit’ hope an’ comin’ out defeated so many times.  I can’t…watch that anymore…”

Casey lifted his hand to cover April’s on the booth’s seat.  He didn’t make eye contact, though April knew he refused to because he undoubtedly felt embarrassed at having voiced such concerns in front of Hugh.  His cheeks flushed a bit, and April smiled in spite of herself.

“Central Park was the last place Nia was seen,” she said softly.  “I can’t help feeling that if a clue were to show up, it’d be there.”

“Ya can’t comb the forest forever, April.”

“Then I’ll do it for as long as I can.  I promised her we’d help, so we should, regardless of the odds.  Gavin won’t stop either.”

A silent moment passed then Casey sighed.  “I’ll go wit’ ya.”

“Thank you, Casey.”

For the remainder of their meal, everyone was silent.  April wanted to pay the check when the waitress returned, except Hugh insisted he should take the bill.  So he did.  The three then exited the restaurant into the night streets and headed for Central Park.  Hugh and Casey made small talk during their seven block trip.  April, however, had no desire to speak.  She kept to herself until the small group entered one of Central Park’s east entrances.

“Who wants to take which side?” she asked the men.

“I’ll take the south-east areas,” Hugh answered, glancing towards Casey.

“Guess it’s south-west ta west for me then,” the younger man said.

“April, why don’t you take the north-west areas?”

“Sounds good, Hugh.  I’ll call if I fi—“

Screech!

“April, look out!”

The redhead’s attention darted from Hugh to Casey in an instant.  She winced as her boyfriend body-slammed her into a pair of bare bushes, and promptly cursed him out while she sought to get up.  She sat on the grass with a fierce glare, though Casey didn’t acknowledge it.  Both his and Hugh’s gazes were set on van speeding down the park way.  If the road hadn’t been paved, it surely would’ve kicked up a cloud of dirt and loose rocks. 

“Did ya see that?” Casey asked.

Hugh nodded glumly.  “I did.”

“See what?” questioned April.  “I barely got a look thanks to  _Casey_.”

“There was an EPF logo on the side ‘a that van,” Casey answered, standing up.

April’s stomach sank.  “R—really?  But isn’t that a little  _too_  conspicuous?  Like, trap-worthy conspicuous?”

“Wanna walk this road an’ find out?”

April accepted her lover’s offered hand and practically jumped to her feet.  She nodded, wordless, then promptly bypassed the male to take the lead. 

‘ _Please_ ,’ she thought while shifting through the areas beside the road, ‘ _please, let there be a clue.  Anything.  Even if it’s staged, just something to guide us in a direction and let us know she’s—wait…Did they—did they really?_ ’

“Casey!”  April’s voice rung like a siren—alarming and full of dread.

She vaulted over a wooden bench to a small area behind it that was riddled with sticks and dead leaves.  The foliage crumbled under the woman’s weight as she kneeled beside a downward-facing body dressed in a simple white gown.  Her arms stretched in the florescent glow of a lamp post, so she could wrap her fingers around a pale arm and roll the body it belonged to.

“April, are ya alright?” Casey bellowed.  Within a second, he and Hugh were standing before the bench, their forms tensed and ready for a fight.

“Y—Yes,” April replied breathlessly with a quick glance their way.

“I—is that…Nia?”

April couldn’t reply to the detective; the words were stuck in her throat like tiny thorns.  Her eyes remained fixed onto Nia’s unconscious form, so Hugh rounded the bench to join her.

He promptly placed his fingers against the side of the younger woman’s exposed neck and said, “Her heart’s racing.  We have to get her to a hospital.”

“No!” April suddenly blurted.  She captured Hugh’s forearm in alarm.  “They’ll do a tox screening or blood tests, and discover she isn’t fully human.  She’s been through _enough_ of that already.”

“Then what do _you_ suggest we do?” the detective snapped.

“Trust me.  I know where she’ll be safe…”

**━❖━**

Gavin’s focus never once left his daughter’s face.  It remained fixed on her pained expression and shallow breathing.  He had no idea how long he’d been staring, but he couldn’t help fearing that if his eyes shifted anywhere else in the room—anywhere at all—the young woman would disappear from his tight grasp, leaving him alone.

He could not bear such a thought.

“How is she, Mister Anders?”

Gavin still didn’t tear his gaze from Nia, even for the elderly voice that questioned him.  “There’s no change,” he replied evenly.  He sensed a being sit on the opposing side of Nia’s cot, and could make out nothing more than a blur of gray and maroon in his peripheral vision.  “She keeps whimpering, breathing unsteadily.  She can’t be woken, so whatever sedative Bishop had given her still lingers in her system.  Who are you?”

“We have not been introduced yet, have we?  I am Master Hamato, Splinter.”

“You’re the…father.”

‘ _Which means the gray is all fur._ ’

“Yes,” answered Splinter, gentle.  “My son Donatello tells me you have not moved all night.”

“It’s only been a few hours,” Gavin responded curtly.

“Hours, yes.  But a few?  Not quite.  It is late morning of Halloween.”

“Really?” Gavin’s question was automatic; he didn’t care for an answer, and Splinter sighed.

“So much like Raphael,” the rat muttered.

“What was that?”

“Raphael’s night had not been much different.  He must have gotten three hours of sleep at most.  He has stayed outside the room…all night.  He’s still there, in fact—though Leonardo has demanded he take a nap.”

The man grew stoic, his voice lowering.   “Ah, yes, the kid.”

“Did my son treat you poorly on your journey to our home?”

“Not precisely.”

“Then may I inquire as to why you sound so…against his concern?”

“You’re a parent.  You tell me.”

Splinter paused—a protuberant action.  “It has taken time, but my sons are on the side of your daughter, Mister Anders.  We all wish to keep her safe, and if there were no threat of a blood report, we would gladly allow her to tend a real hospital.”

“It’s not that.”

“What bothers you then?”  Splinter’s tone was surprisingly calm, and it took all of Gavin’s control not to face him.

“What bothers me is his obvious interest in Nia.”

“Is it that he has an interest or what he is that troubles you?” A subtle tinge of offense lined the mutant’s question, though he had the skills to hide it well. 

Gavin sought to keep his attention on Nia, but after a light huff, he gave into his urge and turned to Splinter.

The site before him was surreal, for sure.  The over-sized rodent sat poised in a low stool as naturally as any human would, with his paw resting atop a gnarled cane.  His coarse fur looked scraggly to Gavin’s standards, and his beady black eyes bore into the human intently.

Gavin retaliated with his own intense gaze, his body stiff.  He lacked an affinity for rats; he found them to be as disgusting as the sewers they thrived in.  Even so, he managed to repress a face of utter disgust.  His tone, however, was another battle entirely.

“I simply want what’s best for her,” he said.  “A life underground amidst…creatures is  _not_  what’s best.”

“That is true for anyone.  Nevertheless, does your daughter not have a right to make that judgment for herself?”  Splinter frowned, his eyes narrowing.

“Perhaps if her judgment were better.”

“I find Nia-san’s judgment to be quite sound.  She has made a few mistakes during her stay with us, but she has proven that she is willing to learn and grow from them.  That is life, Mister Anders.”

The man sneered.  “You don’t have to lecture  _me_  on mistakes.”

“My point, Mister Anders, is that your daughter is a capable young woman, who I believe could contribute much to my clan…to Raphael.”  Splinter’s voice grew soft and solemn.  His gaze remained steady, though, and he drew his cane closer to his robed-body.

“I understand your view,” he continued, “but I request you understand my clan’s view as well.  My sons and I are the only ones of our kind.  For the first fifteen years that I raised them, we remained underground.  I know it is not a glamorous life, and if I had a choice to bring them up in a cleaner environment, I would have.

“But the fact remained that I could not.  The Topside is dangerous, I taught them as much.  We are not the kind to be accepted by humans.  After all, they rarely accept one of another.  How could I expect them to accept my sons?  In that fear, I kept them contained.  I kept them…as far from humans as possible.  However, all children are driven by curiosity, the urge to learn, to test themselves.  They knew well the dangers of mankind, and you know what they decided to do?” 

Splinter paused just long enough to give Gavin a pointed stare.  “They decided to help people, to _protect_ this city.  For eight years, they have saved as many lives as they could, and I am beyond proud to have raised such strong souls.”

Gavin eyed the mutant as he sighed, yet he could find no words to reply with.  His mind was numbed by the subject, save for a single memory of his wife.  He could clearly picture Mia standing before him, hands on her voluptuous hips while she scolded him for making quick judgments on someone else.  Over the years she’d trained him to be more accepting, but it seemed her teachings didn’t apply so easily when she was absent.

“All good parents want what is best for their children.”  Splinter carried on with a newly ironed tone and a determined glint in his coal black eyes.  “Hundreds of years ago, parents determined partners for their children in hopes of a good match, to ensure happiness and prosperity.  Those times have passed, but I believe there is still a part in parents that urges them to seek out a partner for their children—myself included.

“I worry for the futures of my sons.  I wish to see them live their lives as joyfully as possible.  Unfortunately…some joys I fear they may never experience: joys such as wives and children.  Raphael, especially, grows flustered over this matter.  It is one not often talked about in our clan because the topic brings much sorrow.  Even so, I know they retain an inkling of hope that they—like any other—can find their own partners.

“So I say this, Mister Anders: if you are against Raphael’s feelings for Nia-san, let it be because of whom he is, not what he is.”

“Sensei!  Mister Anders!”  An alarmed voice broke Gavin and Splinter’s stare, drawing their attention towards someone entering the room with haste.

“Donatello, what troubles you, my son?” Splinter questioned.

The purple-masked mutant grimaced and avoided Gavin’s hard gaze.  “I think Nia may need to attend an official hospital after all.”

“Why the change of mind, Donatello?”

“These.”  Donatello presented a pair of papers, though he handed them to Gavin, not his father, whom he looked at.  “Her white blood cell count is scary high, and I believe she requires a blood transfusion.  Her discomfort, like she’s having a nightmare, isn’t from any physical injury.  It’s probably because there’s a concentrated drug dosage in her bloodstream that’s growing in increments.”

“How in the world did you decipher so much when you have no access to a hospital lab?”  Gavin shook his head in disbelief, green eyes roaming the crude yet efficient way the medical data had been printed.

“I have a lot of free time and two reliable sources,” Donatello replied curtly.  “Our machines aren’t high-end like most hospitals, but they do what they can.  Like, I can tell there’s a drug growing in her system, but I don’t have the resources to identify it digitally.”

“Do you have its molecular compound printed?”

“It’s on the second page.” 

The redhead quickly switched pages and his brows furrowed as he translated the hand-written molecules within his mind.  “This is LSD.  Lysergic Acid Diethylamide.  Except…slightly altered.”

Donatello frowned.  “Bishop gave her a hallucinogen before abandoning her?  Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know,” Gavin grumbled.

“Is a hospital absolutely necessary, my son?” Splinter’s voice rose with faint apprehension.

“Well,” the ninja started, shifting his weight, “it’s hard to say.  If the LSD continues to rise, then she could be at risk of overdosing without the administration of a counter-drug.”

“How long ago was her last blood sample taken?” Gavin questioned while lowering the papers to his lap.

“Two hours,” Donatello answered.  “As you can see, the LSD’s still relatively low, but it’s higher than the LSD that was present in her second blood test.  If I take a fourth and it’s the same or lower than her third, we don’t have to worry about her harming herself or others—so long as she remains unconscious.  Otherwise…”

“We’d have to get our hands on some Diazepam.”

Donatello nodded.  “That aside, I know for sure a transfusion is necessary.  The problem is that her blood’s…odd.  I don’t know if it’ll adapt to what it can get or reject anything that isn’t her half-human kind.”

“She has a type, though.  O negative.  Like me.”

“Do you want to try giving her blood, Mister Anders?”

“Do you have the  _materials_  for something like that?”

The turtle mutant snorted.  “You’d be surprised at the materials I can salvage and buy.”

“By all means, surprise me.”  Gavin remained unflinching under the weight of Donatello’s bitter smile.

“Let me go shift through my backwater mound of supplies and see what tetanus-riddled materials I can find for you, Mister Anders.”  Smile dying, Donatello spun on a heel then headed towards the room’s exit.  A low moan, however, froze him after three steps.  He turned back, asking in a small voice, “Was that…?”

Gavin stood in a matter of milliseconds.  Her felt his stomach somersault with sudden apprehension and glee, yet he remained stoic on the outside.  He hovered over Nia—practically pushing Splinter aside—and watched his daughter’s eyes flutter open.  Her pupils were dilated, he realized, which was expected with LSD in her system.

“Nia?” Gavin called, raspy.  He raised a hand to stroke her pale cheek.  “Nia, can you hear me?”

“This is bad,” Donatello commented.  “I don’t have a sedative ready.  She shouldn’t be awake.”

Gavin twisted his head in preparation for a snide remark, only to be hindered by Nia’s heightened breathing.  His gaze quickly returned to the stiffened female, whose wide eyes now scanned the ceiling in panic.  Her chest rose and fell with her hyperventilation, and Gavin pinned her arms to the cot’s frame when she began clawing at her face and mumbling incoherent things.

“Nia, stop it!” he cried, though he knew well it’d be in vain.

“No—I don’t—no—not me—not me,” she whispered between short breaths.

“Don’t just stand there, idiot!”  Gavin glared Donatello.  “Find something to give her!”

“Ah, right!” 

 So, the purple-masked mutant ran from the room, and Gavin shook his head at the delayed consideration.  His grip on Nia tightened due to her increased struggling, but soon he froze in place.  Something crept up his spine to base of his skull—a tingle, like that of a numbed body part.  It left a section of his brain stinging, and by the time dark spots began obscuring his vision, he could barely keep control over his shallow breathes.

‘ _What the hell?_   _Why do I suddenly feel like I ran a marathon?_ ’

 “Mister Anders, I believe we should leave the room,” Splinter said sternly.

Gavin could feel a coarse pair of paws attempting to pry his fingers from Nia’s wrists, though he only registered blurred shapes.  “W—what are you doing?” he slurred.

“Her Chi is spinning out of control.”  The paws tugged harder.  “By her side is _not_ a safe place to be!”

“Her what?”

“Mister Anders, please, trust me!”

Just as Splinter removed Gavin’s grip, Nia began screaming.  It was not a mild or short scream, but an on-going bellow of pure, unadulterated terror that would bring a smile to any sadist’s face.  The man immediately sunk to his knees as the room grew hotter than the peak of a summer day.  The oxygen seemed to vanish in an instant, and he lacked energy to cover his head when the ceiling lights flickered then burst into small fireworks of glass and sparks.  He thought he saw Nia dash from the room on uncoordinated feet.

Then again, his vision had already begun to black out.


	33. Trick

 

* * *

 **H** ugh yawned, stretching his hands above his head for a brief moment.  His hunched back gave a frightening crack at the action, and the man cringed as he resettled into the plush sofa at the Williams’ family home.

“You’re sounding old there, Hughy Boy,” Blaine commented with a laugh.  The black-cloaked blonde leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and eyed his friend sitting beside him.

“I feel old,” Hugh replied, blanching.

“That’s what happens when you don’t rest,” a stern feminine voice interjected. 

Hugh twisted his head to address the woman standing beneath the wide arch that connected Blaine’s modern living room to his less-modern kitchen.  Her thick locks of black, wavy hair were pinned back in a half-up hairstyle and the form-fitting vampire costume she donned was dark enough to disguise the small amount of fat on her stocky form.

“Look at you, Marina,” said Blaine with a smirk.  “Did my girls pick that out for you?”

“Yes,” Marina answered.  She sighed then tugged at the velvet fabric around her torso.   “I told them this dress fit their slender mother better than me, but they insisted.”

“Sorry about that, Rina.”

“No harm.”  The tanned woman sent a sly grin at the blonde.  “I’m just glad I don’t have to wear what Meg put your wife in.  You got off easy with Kai’s necromancer theme.”

Blaine raised an eyebrow.  “Now I’m curious.”

Marina opened her mouth to reply, but an approaching chorus of voices interrupted her.  Soon, a willowy woman dressed in a full clown suit entered the living room, with two small girls on each arm.  The youngest—a five-year-old blonde in a purple fairy costume—tugged at the baggy sleeve of the clown.  Her words were fast and inarticulate, yet her determined expression showed she thought her conversation to be truly important.

Only, the clown wasn’t listening.  Her attention held fast to the eldest of the girls—another blonde at least two years older than the other with thick chunks of red strewn throughout her short, wavy tresses.  This blonde didn’t wear a pretty costume like a princess or a ballerina.  Rather, she wore a torn, casual outfit riddled by fake blood that clearly read ‘werewolf attack’.

“For the last time, Kaiya,” the clown said, exasperated, “I’m  _not_ gluing fake intestines on your stomach!”

“But, Mom,” Kaiya whined.  “It’s Halloween!”

“I don’t want you scaring your sister.”

“Megan can handle it.  Can’t you, Meg?”  Kaiya flashed a smile at her sister, but the youngest Williams hid herself behind the legs of her mother.

“No, scary!” she cried.

Immediately, Kaiya frowned.  “Then why are you even going out, big baby?  What do you think Halloween is?”

“Kaiya,” Blaine snapped from the couch.  “Apologize.  Now.”

“Sorry, Megan,” the eldest sibling grumbled without looking at her sister. 

Hugh chuckled as the mother rubbed the head of Kaiya, who pouted.  “Kai sure has a morbid fascination for this stuff, doesn’t she, Blaine?” he whispered to his best friend.

The blonde man shook his hooded head.  “That girl has a sick obsession.  Most girls her age are playing dress up and dolls, while she plays ghost hunter.  It still shocks me that she prefers Halloween over Christmas.”

“So Jennifer’s costume is finally ready.  Are we all set?” Marina’s question drew Hugh’s attention.  The dark-haired beauty sauntered to her husband when he rose from the couch and placed a hand on his chest.  “You, Sir, don’t have a costume on,” she said, a smirk on her black-painted lips.

Hugh half smiled.  “Don’t need one.  It’s nightfall, so I better head out.”

“But you have the night off.”

“Marina, please don’t start.”  The tall man tensed under his wife’s cold, brown eyes.

She spared a long glance at the fair-haired family beside them, who each watched with silent curiosity.  Flashing a fake grin, she excused herself and Hugh from the room, dragging the man by his tie to the kitchen.

“We go Trick-or-Treating with the Williams family every year,” Marina whispered sternly.  “You can’t break that tradition now!”

“I’m looking for a missing person, Rina,” Hugh whispered back.  “I—it takes priority.  I’m sorry.”

“No, you aren’t.  You  _never_  are.”  The woman sighed.  “Those girls in there are looking forward to this.  Kaiya, especially.”

Hugh’s laughter was almost nervous.  “We’ve found a lead.  I have to check it out.”

Marina blanched.  “Are you referring to your ‘special task force’?”

“Y—Yeah.”

“That’s interesting, because I asked Wendell about this force and, strangely, he knew nothing about it.”  Marina’s eyes narrowed and the long sleeves of her costume bunched when her arms crossed.  “Your group dissolved almost two weeks ago.  So tell me, Hugh, what kind of ‘special task force’ can you lead if it doesn’t involve the NYPD?  Should I call the FBI instead?  Maybe the CIA?”

 “Come on, you don’t have to—“

“And Blaine?  Kyle Erlich?  They know nothing about this force either.  They just tag along with you some nights.”

“Mari—“

“This obsession is worse than any other before; it’s _completely_ taken you away from me…”

When his wife’s voice broke, it sent pangs of hot guilt through Hugh’s chest.  And as sure as he knew she wanted to cry, he also knew she had too much pride to let tears fall so easily.  The husband placed a hand on her stiff shoulder.  Only, before he could respond, the kitchen lights hastily flickered, dimmed, and then shut off with a startling crackle, leaving the two in utter darkness.

“Wh—what was that about?” Marina questioned.

“Hey, Blaine!” Hugh called.

“Yeah, it’s the entire house!” replied Blaine, as if reading Hugh’s mind.  “I glanced out the window; the neighbor’s power is out too.  I’m already in search of a radio.”

“Guess we better keep close,” Hugh jested to his wife.  He reached forward in search of Marina’s hand.  When he found it, he slowly led her back into the living room, though her touch told him he hadn’t been completely saved.  “You in here, Jen?”

“Yes, with two monkeys,” Jennifer responded.

“I’m not a monkey; I’m a fairy!” Megan said with attitude.

“I’m sorry, my little fairy.”

“Do you think ghosts did this?” Kaiya asked excitedly.

“Power outages happen all across the country,” Jennifer answered. “There’s nothing supernatural about them.  Right, Marina?”

“Right,” Marina grumbled.

“I found one!” Blaine’s voiced bellowed from the hall, alarming his youngest child, who squealed.  “Sorry, Meg.  Now let’s see what’s wrong.”

“You have batteries in it, right?” asked Jennifer as the man settled himself in the midst of the group.

“Of course,” Blaine answered tartly.

“I’m just asking.  Last blackout you didn’t have them…so you tried plugging the radio into the wall.”

“That was different.  I’d worked a long day.”

Jennifer hummed, yet said no more.  A faint ‘click’ signified the radio’s status and soon the sound of static filled the room.  Hugh listened intently as Blaine shifted through the stations for a news report.  Most stations were either offline or jumbled.  It took some time before a female’s voice clearly spoke through the speakers.

“...orce unknown.  Power companies are quickly looking into the mystery; however, the blackouts are not confined to a single grid or section of the city like they would if a circuit were tripped.  Is it possible that this is a Halloween trick by a group of kids?  If so, these individuals are in for a serious punishment at the alarming rate houses and businesses are losing power.  I say to them, quit while you’re ahead.  Another theory is…”

The volume diminished, and Blaine scoffed.  “Figures.  Damn punks.”

“Watch your mouth, Blaine.”

“Sorry, Jen.”

“Does this mean we can’t Trick-or-Treat?”  Kaiya sounded truly distraught.

“I don’t know, Sweetie,” answered Blaine.  “We can—“

_I’m too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for shirt.  So sexy it hurts._

“Uh, y—you’re ringing, Hugh.”

Unlike her husband, Jennifer didn’t stifle her laughter.  “You still have that ringtone?” she questioned over the giggles of her children.

“I like it,” Hugh grumbled in reply.

Marina touched her husband’s shoulder.  “Who could possibly be calling you?”

“Perhaps it’s Wendell,” Blaine suggested.

Hugh simply shrugged then swiped his finger across his phone’s screen without bothering to check the caller identity, answering, “Hello.”

“Hugh!”  Donatello’s breathless voice sent a chill down the detective’s spine.

“What is it?”  Though confused, Hugh managed to keep all distress from his voice.

“We need your help,” continued Donatello after swallowing a gulp of air.  “It’s Nia.”

“What about  _that_?”

“Have you seen the blackouts?”

“I’ve noticed.”

“That’s her.”

“ _What_?”

“I—it’s too involved to explain right now.  We need you to get a hold of some Diazepam.  Quick.”

“What for?”

“To stop Nia!  We—wait—Raph, I’m getting Hugh’s help.  Leo…Leo, talk some sense into him.  Guys?”

“Are they not listening?”

“Forget it.  Hugh, listen.  Right now Nia’s pumped full of LSD, and apparently when it’s mixed with her other side—whatever we call it—the results aren’t pretty.  If we can’t reach her, she could die of an overdose.  Or…she may even kill someone.”

“Okay, okay.”  Hugh inhaled.  “You need Diazepam to calm her down.”

“Exactly.  We deduced you were our best chance.  Can you get it?”

“I’ll try.  Where should we meet?”

“You find Nia, you find us.  Believe me; she’s not hard to miss.  I have to go.  The guys seem to have a plan.”

“I’ll get to you as soon as possible.”

“Thank you.”

“That…wasn’t Wendell, was it?” Marina questioned carefully as Hugh ended the call. 

The man sighed then met his wife’s stare.  “I’m sorry.  I have to go.”

**━❖━**

“Watch where ya’re goin’, little punks!” Casey scolded as he walked.

It felt like the twentieth time he’d said that line within the last hour, but with so many kids running around New York City’s streets like madmen, what else could be said?  In his peripheral vision, he saw April smirk a moment then sidestep a trio of scantily-clothed witches conversing on the sidewalk before glancing up from the minicomputer in her hands.

“You sound like an old man,” she teased.

“Twenty-nine might be pushin’ it,” the gruff male muttered.  He glared at a ten-year-old zombie, who brushed passed the duo and excitedly knocked on the townhouse door behind them.  “Power outages don’t really faze the monsters when it comes ta Trick-or-Treatin’, huh?”

“They probably think it adds to the atmosphere,” answered April nonchalantly.  She clicked a very more keys on her computer before facing Casey.  “Nia’s leaving a trail of shut-down blocks and electrical fires that I can track.  We’ve been playing it safe by following her one street over, but if we can’t stop her soon the police will notice the pattern.”

Casey frowned, quickening his pace into a speed walk.  “Where’s she now?”

“She’s”—the redhead glanced at the glowing grid on her computer screen then halted—“heading towards the Flatiron District.”

“What?”  Casey stopped as well.  “I thought she was headin’ north!”

April threw her free hand into the air with a huff.  “She was until a few seconds ago.  Something must’ve changed her direction.”

“Dammit!”

“We’ll go another block down then take Third Avenue.”

“An’ what if she changes direction again?” the man asked, scrunching his tanned face into a scowl.  “I bet fixin’ my bike seems like a priority  _now_ , don’t it?”

“Shut it!” April snapped coldly.  Casey knew without a doubt that she felt guilty for making him put off replacing the head gasket.  “We’ll catch up.  The LSD will slow her down.  Look, there’s Third Avenue.” 

Casey’s gaze followed the direction of April’s pointed finger to a street sign a few feet ahead.  However, it wasn’t long until his attention shifted to the road’s wide intersection instead.  It was barricaded like a quarantine zone by several white vans and more than a dozen men dressed in SWAT-like attire.

These men were redirecting people, and carried guns not standard for simple city police.  Under the bright streetlamps, Casey caught a glimpse of a logo sewn neatly onto the uniform’s upper arms, and he wasted no time in grabbing April’s elbow so he could pull her into a nearby alley before they were spotted by the closest scout.

“What the _hell_ , Casey?” April hissed as she regained her arm.

The buff man rewarded her glare by silencing her with a finger.  “Look,” he whispered while carefully peering out of the alley’s entrance.

April complied after a moment of hesitation, frowning all the while.  “Look at what?”

“Their sleeves.”

Another moment passed as the redhead studied the scene.  “What’s the EPF doing here?” she questioned from her spot below Casey.

“Dunno…”

“Casey”—the man cringed at the dread in his girlfriend’s voice—“if they’re after Nia again then they’ll be blocking all the routes to her.”

“Ap—“

“Can you believe it, Jez?” an airy, female voice rang out.

Instinctively, Casey placed an arm before April’s chest and gently pushed her against the brick wall.  They remained quiet as two women paused before the alley—one, a sever-looking Hispanic with a pixie cut; the other, a younger Hispanic with long, straight hair and an excited spark in her wide smile.

The one assumed to be Jez grimaced at her companion then tightened the strings on her vampire costume.  “Believe what, Miriam?” she asked dully.  “The audacity of these people to shut-down entire streets as if the local police aren’t good enough?”

“No,” Miriam replied, still grinning.  “How  _cool_  they are!  What was their name again?  The Earth Protection Force?  Doesn’t that sound like a secret gang of heroes?”

“They’re a gang of something,” responded Jez.  The taller female brushed off a leaf that’d settled onto the front of Miriam’s Gothic bodice then sighed.  “Didn’t you hear the brief address their leader gave at Times Square?  ‘Here to protect the public from dark enemies’?  The man sounds like an absolute lunatic.”

Miriam pouted and crossed her bare arms.  “Well, I think he’s telling the truth.  Whoever’s rampaging through the city, taking down lights and starting fires, may be too much for local authorities.  So the EPF are only helping.”

“I have my reserves, but it’s not like we can stop them.”

“Why would we want to?”

Jez shook her head after a silent moment.  “Let’s go.  We’ll find another way to the party.”

Wrapping an arm around her companion, the short-haired Hispanic guided Miriam down the street, chatting about another topic Casey found unimportant.  Once the women were out of ear-shot, he released his girlfriend and took a step away from the wall so he could face her.  He was greeted with a dour look often seen when April transcended the plain of anger to absolute fury.

She ground her teeth, clenched her fists, and tried vainly to keep her breath even.  “That son of a bitch.  It makes sense now.”

“It does?” Casey questioned, automatic.  He gained the intense glare of the redhead, though he saw little danger for him in those stormy, green eyes.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Not really.”

“Then I’ll explain.  Bishop dropped Nia off, knowing full-well what would happen when she awoke.  He _counted_ on her rampaging.  He _counted_ on her causing a panic.  Don’t you see?”  Pausing, April laughed snidely.  “That bastard is using her for publicity.  And if we’re caught trying to help her, it’ll make us look like the bad guys.”

Casey opened his mouth then closed it.  “Shit.”

 “We have to call the guys,” the woman said after a deep, sobering breath.  She also stepped away from the brick wall then locked eyes with Casey.  ”We have to stop Bishop.”

**━❖━**

Damn that Doctor Gaertner to hell!

Bishop had told him.  He warned him.  Do not allow Annabelle Lombardo any access to high-class files.  So what does the fool do?  Grant her passwords to his most recent experiments on Nia Anders.  The pure ludicrously of the situation boiled the man’s blood with an alarming amount of anger, and there was no saving the defenseless computer monitor that buckled under the pressure of Bishop’s strong fist.

Today was to be a good day—one of the best in years—yet Lombardo sought to ruin it.

 ‘D _amn women should be thankful I have backups that far exceed her reach,_ ’ the leader thought as he withdrew his hand from a smoking display of shattered glass and sparks.  It bled, of course, but pain so rarely affected him in recent decades.  ‘ _Had she stolen the only copies, I would have had to spare Miss Anders.  No one wants that.  Right, Ekeini?_

 _“My only qualm is that this valuable knowledge is now available to whomever she wishes to share it with…I knew she was untrustworthy, a trickster.  When I get back, Doctor Gaertner will have hell to pay.  Meanwhile, I need to make a little request of the police commissioner._ ’

“Agent Bishop, Sir?” a stoic female voice called.

The man turned towards the open door of his surveillance vehicle, where a stern-faced EPF soldier stared back at him.  “Agent Barrett,” he said smoothly.  “Are the streets blocked off?”  Barrett nodded, and Bishop smirked.  “Perfect.  Prepare for our show then.”


	34. Halloween

 

* * *

 **D** odging punches wasn’t what made Raphael’s battle so difficult.  What made it difficult was dodging the damn punches while simultaneously avoiding plasma shots.  They descended on him like a fierce rainfall provided by the Earth Protection Force goons stationed on rooftops, and the red-masked Chūnin found himself taking cover beside an unfortunate Porsche parked on Fifty-Third Street to avoid them.

“Oi, ya bastards,” he cried as he used the butt of his sai to break the nose of one soldier who ventured too close, “that was a nice set ‘a wheels!”

Another wave of searing plasma shots descended.  Raphael scowled when one grazed his arm and he barely managed to find an old Pontiac for shelter.  On his belt, he felt his Shell Cell vibrate with urgency, so after breaking the noses of two more soldieries, he darted down the sidewalk.  His flight provided him with enough time to answer his phone, which had apparently been cracked in battle somehow.

“Raph!” April yelled from the other end of the line.  “About time one of you guys picked up.  What’s going on?”

“Oh, ya know—just gettin’ a little exercise.  Yerself?

The woman scoffed over the mutant’s light panting.  “This is no time for jokes.  Listen, the EPF are—“

“I know.”

“Have you run into them already?”

Raph jumped at a plasma shot that landed beside his foot, steering closer towards the long line of town houses he passed.  “The guys ‘n I separated a little while ago for a plan, but just as I was about ta approach Nia these assholes got in the way.”

“You saw her?”  April’s voice hitched with worry and Raphael growled.

“For a second.  I’ll ya what, Ape: these guys are really startin’ ta piss me off.  We ain’t got time for this shit!”

“You have no idea,” whispered April grimly.  “Raph”—the woman kept her tone even, yet Raphael could detect an underlay of apprehension—“Bishop’s using Nia for self-promotion.  The drop-off was basically staged.  Casey’s talking with Leo now.  Together, we’ll find a way keep most of the EPF busy.  You—“

“Beat Bishop to Nia, right?”  Snorting, Raph performed a serpentine pattern to avoid three more plasma shots, and breathed an inward sigh of relief since he was now free from fire range.  “That’s a given; there’s no way in hell I’m lettin’ that bastard lay a hand on her.  Not again.”

“Nia was heading towards the Flatiron District, but now she’s heading up Fifth Avenue.  I think Bishop’s funneling her to Central Park.”

“Jackass.  That was our plan.”

“What?”

“Nothin’.  I’m on it.  Hugh’ll be here wit’ counter drugs at any minute, too.  Just raise hell for the bastards while I get Nia, alright?”

“You got it,” April remarked sorely.  “And Raph?”

Raphael paused just as he was about to close his phone.  “Yeah?”

“Stay safe.”

“Don’t I always?  See ya later, Sis.”

With nothing left to say, Raphael ended the call then placed his Shell Cell back in its rightful place.  He glared at the concrete path that lay ahead before veering into the next alley and scaling the present fire escapes to the towering rooftops above.  The very moment his toes made contact with the cool stone, he pushed off like a rocket.

‘ _Even the EPF can’t have the entire city on lockdown,_ ’ he thought as he leapt unbelievable distances.  ‘ _I’ll avoid Fifty-Third for now.  If needs be, I can travel underground.  Though I’d rather stay Topside ta see Nia’s trail._ ’  Raph sighed.  ‘ _Damn you, Bishop.  Don’t ya got enough unfortunate mutants and aliens ta hunt?  Why drag Nia into all this?  How’s she ever gunna recover from…?_ '

Scoffing, the mutant shook his head firmly to bury his thoughts.  He landed on a steep tile roof and gripped firmly onto the grooved edge of a round skylight that recessed into it.  This high vantage point gave him the perfect view of New York City’s horizon, luring his eyes to the notable wake of disaster left by Nia.

Whole blocks of the city were now without power and glowed faintly with alternative lighting.  Towards the east, small billows of smoke rose into the dark sky like mile markers of where the young woman had stumbled through.  Though Raphael was unconvinced all fires were because of Nia. 

Not long after parting ways with his brothers, he’d seen a teen duo light a Molotov Cocktail and toss it into an alley.  The kids were lucky they only set trash ablaze.  Had they thrown the fire bomb into a house, they would’ve woken on the side of the street with one hell of a headache.

‘ _Still,_ _if Nia’s caught, the city will hold her accountable, regardless ‘a the idiots who decide ta exploit the situation._ ’

A growl later, the Raph released the roof, skid down three tiles, and then leapt forward.  He promptly captured a thick telephone line in one hand and used the momentum behind his short fall to swing himself high enough that he could let go and walk the cable like a tightrope.

‘ _I just saw another city block go down by Central Park.  That’s got ta be her._ ’

The shrill sound of fire trucks rung louder the closer Raphael neared the park, but their noise paled in comparison to the confirmation of Nia’s presence there.  He’d been listening to her occasional screams since the last block over, and they sent chills down his spine that somehow brought his blood to a boil.

His fingers curled around the stone ledge of a gothic library’s rooftop as he surveyed the bustling street four stories below.  For a moment, he feared the police would be scouring the park in droves.  However, it seemed the large group had already come to an understanding with the EPF, who kept all NYPD officers on the outside of the wall.

Sneaking past them was child’s play.  The mutant came face-to-face with a few sentries along the fence line.  They were dealt with quickly, so not a minute after he’d landed on the park’s lush property all that remained for him to do was await the guidance of another scream.  Time crawled on like years, but once Nia’s high-pitched tone pierced the air, Raphael darted northwest with the drive of a bullet.

Debris littered the dirt trail he found himself following—mounds of upturned soil, several dead tree limbs, and a countless amounts of displaced rocks.  The place had obviously been bombarded with plasma guns, and it required great skill not to trip on the unintentional traps.  Again, Nia’s voice sounded—this time softer than all the rest. 

On this cue Raphael entered a large field, which he recognized from when Nia traded herself for him nearly a month ago.  Where he once stood in its grassy center, a collection of less than a dozen EPF soldiers and a proudly marching Bishop encroached on a figure barely visible from the wood line Raphael occupied.  His sais had been drawn moments ago, so his fingers tightened around their leather hilts when two soldiers left enough room for a clear view of the figure: Nia.

Not all plasma shots had missed their target.  Glossy red wounds that resembled shooting stars covered the young woman’s trembling body.  Some could be spotted from the tears in her white nightgown, though most were present on her discolored arms and one bare shoulder.  She panted frantically while flailing her arms above her ducked head like a madman.  Her steps were uncoordinated, sluggish, and a faulty move grounded her, leaving her petrified where she landed.

The final croak of misery she gave before growing silent had been the Chūnin’s breaking point.

Scowling, Raphael left the tree line before he exchanged his sais in favor of several shuriken.  His quick strides across the open field were silent, so before the outer ring of EPF soldiers could comprehend what’d happened, the barrel of their plasma guns were run through by sharp throwing stars.  With a harsh hum, each of the guns exploded under the pent-up pressure, and Raph used the distraction of their seeping acid to knock out two guards with a punch to their pained faces.  The remaining soldiers with working guns caught on quicker than the mutant would’ve liked, yet he sent enough shuriken flying their way to distracted them while he drove his sais into two cameras that he’d just noticed.

‘ _I can’t believe Bishop’s recordin’ this, the sick bastard!_ ’

Raphael glared at the mild sparks that accompanied the electronics’ death cry then blocked a female soldier’s assault with one of his sai.  He smirked at her, though she returned the gesture with a little too much gusto.  Before she backed away, Raph felt a strong pair of arms slip under his armpits then twist his arms painfully behind his carapace—as far as they could go.  Another soldier soon joined his comrade, and together they ensured Raph’s knees buckled as his weapons dropped into the dead grass. 

‘ _Dammit_.’  He struggled.  ‘ _These guys are stronger than the norm, which means…I’m gunna have ta wait for an openin’._ ’

“Raphael, Raphael,” a deep voice sung in mock sweetness.  Bishop approached from beyond his soldiers, stopping once he stood before his kneeled captive.  “How nice to see you.  I fear I may have to charge you for those cameras, though.  They were rather expensive.”

“Sorry, Bishop,” Raphael retorted with an equal amount of bitter kindness.  “As much as I like the idea ‘a  _everyone_  seein’ what an ass ya are, I won’t let ya exploit Nia.”

“I give you freedom and this is how you repay me?”  The agent shook his head.  “What an ungrateful beast.”

“Ya didn’t give me shit!” Raph cried as he struggled against the iron hold that kept his arms twisted behind his carapace.  “Ya even tried trackin’ me home.”

“Is that all?”

“Stop playin’ games an’ tell yer dogs ta let go before I bite their arms off.”

“And here I thought being overdramatic was Michelangelo’s trait,” Bishop drawled, undaunted.

A sardonic smirk crossed the mutant’s face.  “Who says I ain’t serious?”

Bishop sighed then stepped sideways twice.  “Raphael, any other time, I would love to play.  But today you do not fit into my plans.  So I’m giving you a chance to leave—no strings attached.  All you have to do is walk away from her.”

Raph narrowed his amber eyes at the agent’s subtle display of aggravation, snarling, “So ya can kill her an’ pretend ta be New York’s hero?  What a man, gangin’ up on a defenseless woman.”

“You call  _that_  defenseless?”  Bishop pointed past his soldiers—at the ring of dark brown grass surrounding a recoiled Nia—then grinned.  “You have no idea the kind of creatures she’s connected with.  Already, she has caused so much chaos because of her rampage.”

“A rampage ya induced!  Everything that’s happened this Halloween’s been _yer_  fuckin’ fault!”

“All of which has been done to prove a point.  But who are you going to convince of that?  The Police Commissioner himself witnessed her mercilessly end the lives of two of my men.”

Suddenly, the Chūnin’s glare faulted.  “What?” he whispered.

“It was tragic, really,” Bishop started.  “In our attempts to bravely protect a crowd of children, the men treaded far too close.  The monster sucked the energy right out of them, and the Commissioner could see how devastated I was afterwards.  He is such an understanding man, and so gave me full control of the situation.”

“Ya son of a bitch!  Ya sacrificed men for this act?”  The mutant’s pointed gaze landed on the brunette woman standing beside Bishop like a loyal mutt.  “How can ya still be wit’ him?”

 “Agent Barrett?” Bishop inquired with an entertained smile.

Immediately, Agent Barrett stood at attention, her bright yet stony eyes set on Raphael.  “Samuel Kenneth Stevens, forty-eight, sentenced to life in prison after a long spree of child murders.  Jerry Neal Miller, twenty-five, a convicted rapist and conman, also sentenced to life in prison.  Both were willing participants.”

“I would never treat my faithful members so uncivilly,” the tanned man said smoothly.  “Not without reason.  All I had to do was pull some strings, offer a chance at freedom if they can escape, then let things play out.”

“That’s still a sacrifice.  Ya knew what would happen!”

“They had given up their lives long ago, Turtle.  I simply found a means of disposing the husks left behind.  It was distasteful, yet necessary.  Now”—Bishop stepped forward, arms linked behind his back—“are you going to accept my offer?  Or will I have to kill you as well?”

“What do ya think?” Raph hissed—words as cold as his stare.

“Very well; I was fair.”  Snorting, the man spun on a heel and began walking towards Nia, who now numbly drooled onto the dead grass.  He averted his attention for a second so he could address Agent Barrett by his side.  “Prepare to fire.  I want no trace of the mutant left.  When his brothers arrive, kill them as well.”

For a moment, Bishop continued forward, but then something stopped him in his tracks.  He turned in such a way that Raphael could partially see his smug smirk.  “On second thought; wound and spare Michelangelo, the one in orange.  I already know he makes a far more entertaining specimen than his brother.  Right, Raphael?”

“Ya slimy, son of a bitch!”  Raphael screamed hoarsely.

The grip on his arm loosened slightly as the mutant’s strong legs propelled him off the ground.  With a resounding growl, he slammed his head into the right agent’s face then hooked a foot behind the knee of the left agent, causing him to stumble.  In their brief reeling, Raph retrieved his sais from the grass then jumped to deliver a snap kick to both their chests.  They meet the ground in seconds, gasping, but just as the hothead readied himself for a charge at Bishop, he was met with the barrel of Agent Barrett’s freshly-powered plasma gun.

“You had your chance,” the woman stated, emotionless.

She squeezed the trigger.  A bright light flashed from the gun, and Raphael prepared himself for a pain that never came.  The scorching shot grazed his hunched shoulder instead of burning a hole through his plastron, having been redirected by a metal bullet.

The Chūnin smirked at the six-foot African American who landed between him and the only available Earth Protection Force members.  “Took yer sweet time, Reese,” he noted while lining himself beside the detective confidently.

Hugh gave a sour laugh.  “Sorry, traffic was hell.”

“Guess I can forgive ya,” Raph said lowly, “if ya got the goods.”

“You bet,” Hugh replied, just loud enough for his friend to hear.  From the corner of his eye, the hothead watched the man gently pat a breast pocket of his blazer.  “I’ve prepared two syringes.  It’s all I have.  They need to be administered as soon as possible, before she overdoses.”

“That shouldn’t be an issue.”

“Look, smartass, I’ll give them to you then take care of these two.”

“Don’t think so.  Ya’ve never dealt wit’ Bishop before.  Ya can’t handle him.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll take Bishop.  Ya take the chick.  Keep the syringes; they’ll be safer wit’ ya.  Now go!”

Raphael left Hugh in the graces of Agent Barrett then rushed Bishop at full speed.  Bishop casually dodged the sai that sailed towards his chest by sidestepping, but Raph expected as such.  When the agent drew his leg up for a kick, the mutant ducked, rolled sideways, and then popped up for a sidekick of his own.  Bishop immediately caught Raph’s thick ankle in an unbreakable grip and with extraordinary strength, tossed him clean over his head.  The Chūnin twisted his body before he reached the ground behind his opponent, so he landed roughly on his shoulder rather than his neck.  Grunting, he jumped to his feet as Bishop turned.  Then, he recovered the lonely sai that he’d tossed moments ago.

“It is such a waste of time when others fight, knowing the outcome will end in defeat,” Bishop said with a heavy sigh.

Raphael scoffed at the annoyed glare he received then crouched, tensing his muscular thighs.  “Sorry ya’re havin’ such a bad night.”

The red-masked mutant charged again.  He knew faking another frontal attack would be pointless, so instead he used Bishop’s wide shoulders as a step before their bodies collided.  For the briefest moment that he hung suspended in the chilly air, he eyed Hugh.

The man had yet to reach Nia’s side.  In fact, Agent Barrett was ensuring he steered clear of the half circle of EPF soldiers awaiting orders. Back and back she forced him with surprisingly strong punches.  It must’ve taken all of Hugh’s skills to keep one from landing on the delicate syringes in his breast pocket, if his labored breathing was any indicator.

‘ _Damn_.’

Raphael prepared to call the detective when his toes touched the softness of grass, except a sudden, rough pressure at his side forced the breath from his lungs in the form of a strangled cry.  His body flew over the field lowly, occasionally stirring up dirt in its wake, and then stopped at the base of medium-sized boulder two yards away.  The sharp stings at the back of his neck and across his shoulder blades told Raphael that the stone had skinned him deeply.  Shaking off lightheadedness, the mutant sat up in time to avoid a leather dress shoe heading for his face.

“What are ya doin’, idiot?” questioned Raph gruffly.  He sent a glare to Hugh, who barely dodged Agent Barrett’s sidekick by ducking beside the Chūnin.  “Can’t ya feel it?  The pins ‘n prickles in the area are diminishin’.  Nia’s _dyin’_!”

Hugh somersaulted away from Raph then narrowly avoided yet another kick, asking, “Is she the one causing that strange sensation?”

“Yeah.  Now cut the damn chivalry an’ just shoot her ass!”

“To do that, I assume he would need this,” Bishop added.

A stone sunk in the pit of Raphael’s stomach before he even faced the agent that calmly crossed the field, a hand gun in his loose grasp.  He cursed under his breath and Bishop’s small smile died. 

“Like I said, Turtle, this is pointless.  If you really wanted an advantage, you would have brought your brothers along.  I wonder what more  _important_  things they have to do.”  Scowling like a maddened dog, the EPF leader crushed the gun in his hand as if it were made of glass then tossed the jumbled metal away with a sneer.

“You are not acting logically,” he continued through clenched teeth.  “Why would you scoff in my face at the chance to save your own life?  This half-breed is not your family nor your responsibility.  She is simply something that should not exist—a waste of space on this planet, just like  _them_.  All I desire is to give her life a meaningful end.”

“Yer selfish purposes don’t give her life meaning; she’s got her own purpose ta fill!!” retorted Raphael as his burning muscles lifted him from the grass.

Bishop stalked forward.  “What purpose is that?  To roam around this world like a time bomb?  To fool others with her human appearance and give them the false sense of security that she will not harm them?  She is the worst kind: the kind whose looks mislead, while on the inside they are every bit as _fowl_ as the rest.”  Chortling, the agent halted a yard away from the hunched Chūnin.

Raphael neither stiffened at nor yielded to the threatening aura.  His face was relaxed, and it had Bishop’s brows furrowed in seconds when he said, “She’ll make children’s books.”

“What?”

“Or draw concept art for movies.  Whichever one comes first.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Nia’s dream,” Raph answered, heated.  “What makes life worth it ta her.  Ya ain’t got any right ta judge her existence.  She’s here, an’ regardless ‘a the hell she’s been through lately, she hasn’t _once_ thought otherwise.  Ya try so hard ta be a god, Bishop.  Ya ain’t.” 

Gradually, Bishop’s expression eased into a stoic expression, his dark eyes hard and unreadable.  “My intent is not to be a god, but to protect the people of Earth.”

“If ya ask me, I think over two hundred years ‘a obsession’s cracked yer mind.”

The agent’s glare returned.  “Enough of this nonsense!  Barrett, kill the man and—” Bishop’s commanding voice died when he twisted sideways. 

Raphael instantly followed his gaze to Hugh.  The detective’s tall figure stood over the unmoving form of Agent Barrett with a bloodied rock in his clenched fist.  He heaved as if every breath were painful and didn’t face the duo for a few seconds. 

When he did, he smirked half-heartedly then overstepped the figure completely.  “Guns make things too easy anyway,” he wheezed while removing both syringes from their home.  “She should be out for—“

“Hugh, behind ya!”  Raphael’s warning came too late.

Before Hugh could glance behind him, Agent Barrett sprung to her feet and delivered a strong punch to the detective’s unguarded ribs then to his throat.  As he hacked, attempting to maintain some composure, the woman high-kicked the syringes from Hugh’s lax grasp then slipped her gloved fingers into Hugh’s coat so she could check for more.  Hugh brought an elbow down on her shoulder, causing her to wince, but she still managed to floor him with a face punch.

Time slowed down as Raphael launched himself forward.  He outstretched a hand towards the delicate syringes that fell with the intensity of an oncoming disaster and felt a pricking surge of terror course through his muscles.  Unfortunately, like in a nightmare, he felt as if he were running through sand, which gripped his feet tighter and tighter with every leap he made.

‘ _No_ ,’ Raph thought, wide-eyed.  ‘ _It can’t end like this!_ ’

Five feet to impact.

‘ _She can’t die like the oddahs!_ ’

Three feet to impact.

‘ _I haven’t even told her yet…_ ’

One foot to impact.

“I win, Turtle.”  Bishop’s smug voice barely registered in Raphael’s mind.  It came as a whisper behind him that was soon drowned out by sheer relief. 

The syringes were caught.  Not by Raph, but by Leonardo, who’d entered the scene like a savior.  The sai master smirked as his older brother straightened from his kneeling position, the syringes cradled gingerly in his large hand.  Calm rage darkened the Jonin’s umber eyes, and Raphael knew by how collected he remained under Bishop’s cold gaze that he already had an iron-clad plan in the works.

“You shouldn’t have come here alone, Raph,” said Leonardo without breaking his staring contest.

“April sent me,” Raphael replied, stopping at his leader.

Leo sighed lightly. “I let her know how I felt about it too.”

“I’m sure ya did.”

“Detective Reese, can you stand?”

A groan came from beside the duo.  “Barely.”

“That’s good enough.”  The blue-masked Jonin tore his attention away from Bishop and kneeled to place the syringes in Hugh’s open palm.  With a sharp hiss, the man sat up, giving a silent nod as Leo continued.  “Raph and I will take care of Bishop.  I’ve already grounded the guards around Nia, so you shouldn’t have any problems.”

“What about Bishop’s soldier ‘a the year?” Raph added.

Leo stood, smirking.  “It’s handled.  Now go, Detective.”

Hugh wasted no time; he immediately began limping towards Nia’s motionless body.  Leonardo flashed a mischievous look that Raphael found out of place.  He raised an eye ridge at the Jonin, yet remained silent as they both faced Bishop.

“Leonardo, I was wondering when you would join our party,” said the man with a leery grin.  “However, one more turtle will make no difference.”

“I beg to differ,” Leo countered.  “In fact, you’re going to let the four of us walk away without incident, so please keep your agent close.”

Bishop’s dark eyes narrowed.  “Why would I do that?”

Leonardo offered a casual shrug.  “Maybe because your image is fragile right now?  You’ve been slowly transitioning into the public eye for years.  You _need_ their approval to keep power.  You need to convince them that your role is necessary.  So what will Commissioner Powell think when he arrives?”

Amusement quirked up the corner of Raphael’s wide mouth when Bishop tightened his fists.

“What have you done?” the agent spat.

Leonardo’s own smirk grew; Raph sensed this though he didn’t face the Jonin.  “Called him, claiming to be one of your soldiers.  I told him you were having difficulties with the…mutant and asked him to send immediate aid.  You may’ve given the city a show, but look at Nia now.  She’s helpless, weary, and beyond frightened.  Yet you have every intention of putting a shot through her head, don’t you?  Why do I get the feeling that wouldn’t settle well with the Commissioner?”

Bishop’s lean form had grown rigid.  And the look of utter loathing on his face only worsened when Leonardo scoffed mockingly, though he didn’t speak.

“If you want to fight, fine,” Leo continued.  “You’ll only be harming your chances at acceptance, though.  Even serial killers are apprehended alive when possible, and they’re nowhere near as sympathetic looking as Nia.  You can’t exactly execute her in the Commissioner’s presence…can you?”

Here, Bishop muttered something incoherent.  Raphael had a feeling it was an insult.  He couldn’t care less about it, though, and so calmly watched as his brother added,

“I give it three minutes before he arrives, at most.  So…what will it be, Bishop?”

Perhaps a minute passed.  Or maybe a few seconds.  All Raph knew was that the wait felt unnecessarily long.  Bishop glared at the duo—unmoving, silent.  When he released a sigh, he raised his chin in superiority, and Raph readied himself for defiance.  But the EPF leader remained where he stood, giving his right-hand soldier a gesture that dropped her guard.

“Well played, Turtle,” he said in an eerie mix of praise and hatred.  “Leave before I change my mind.”

Leonardo immediately nodded towards his younger brother.  Raphael returned the gesture and while he ran for Nia’s side, the Jonin kept a careful eye on their enemy.

“How is she?” questioned the hothead once kneeled beside Hugh.  His stomach lurched violently at the sight of her pasty face smeared with dried blood, as well as the deep, cauterized gash that ran from the front of her exposed left shoulder to the nape of her neck.

Hugh shifted the young woman so her limp body sat upright against his chest rather leaning back, answering, “Weak.  I’ve administered both syringes.  The rest is up to her.”

“She’ll make it,” the red-masked Chūnin said in an undertone.  He couldn’t fight the urge to run a thick thumb down the side of her bruised cheek.

“Raph, is she ready?” Leo asked, his voice tinged with impatience.

“Yea, Bro.”

“Then let’s go.”

Leonardo darted for the wood line and Raphael gathered Nia into his arms.  After nodding for Hugh to follow, he also crossed the grassy field and held the artist close as he disappeared into the thick Oak branches of Central Park.


	35. Yin and Yang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gets a little sappy/fluffy at the end, but these kids deserve it, I think. :D

 

* * *

 **I** n the solitude of Donatello’s enclosed lab, Gavin clung to a young woman—his only child.  To see her up, free from pain, had been overwhelming when he awoke to her seated on a stool beside his cot, so he didn’t want to release her.  Even so, his reasoning allowed him to draw back when her strong grip around his torso loosened.

“I’m so glad you’re okay, Daddy,” Nia whispered, sniffling.  Her gaze lifted towards him, her teal eyes puffy from tears.  “I’m sorry…about what I did to you.  I—I’m sorry I hurt you.”

With a small smile, Gavin placed a finger to his daughter’s dark lips then let it drop.  “You had no control.  It wasn’t your fault.”

“I—I know.  But…”  The grip on Gavin tightened.  “I feared you and Mister Splinter would remain sleeping.  I thought you were going to be just like Ma—“  Nia stopped herself short with hick.  More tears welled in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall.  “You both woke up while I was sleeping.  I’m sorry I didn’t—“

“Nia,” interrupted the father, “don’t apologize.  I’m glad you could rest.  Donatello told me earlier that he’d been performing periodical blood transfusions in our state of unconsciousness.  Since you woke three days ago, have you felt sick in any way?”

Nia shook her head.  “Actually, I’ve felt…lighter—like my loss of control helped me gain it.  I—I know that sounds silly, but…I haven’t had any migraines.  What about you?  Do you feel sick?  I know Donatello was concerned about taking blood in your state.”

“I understand it was necessary.  You were dying, after all.  I feel weak.  Other than that, I’m fine.  The same goes for…Mister Splinter.”

“I can’t believe I did that to him twice.”

“Twice?”

The young woman gave a miserable nod.  “Last time wasn’t nearly as bad, though.”

Gavin pursed his lips before adding, “I’m sure your previous episode didn’t involve LSD, did it?”

She shook her head.

“There you have it…”

Soon, silence settled in the room and it gradually grew tense.

“Daddy?” Nia asked in a low voice.  “Why were you so secretive?  Why’d you never tell me that I was adopted?  O—or about my DNA?”

Gavin wanted to dismiss the matter, honestly; but since he knew it could no longer be avoided, he offered his child a solemn stare.  “I know I shouldn’t have withheld so much information.  It’s just…your DNA left me feeling so suspended in disbelief that I—I never quite accepted it as truth.  When I thought I’d found a solution for your migraines, I dismissed it.  I helped, so why tell you?  But…I guess that’s what _you_ kept from me, wasn’t it?” 

At the redhead’s faint frown, Nia’s gaze fell to plastic button on her father’s purple dress shirt.

“Frankly, if it hadn’t been for the events on Halloween night, I never would’ve admitted your blood was anything other than a strange computer error.”

“But it’s not an error,” the daughter said with gentle fear.  “Does that…does that make you hate me?”

“No,” answered Gavin quickly.  “I could never love you any less, regardless of your genes.  You belong to Mia and me.  That’s why we never told you about the adoption.”  The man paused, studying Nia’s downturned face, and then lifted her chin with his aged hand so their eyes met.

“You were found on the streets as a toddler,” he added, “wandering alone, crying.  As years waxed on, your mother and I grew increasingly confused about your story, about how you were taken in by the Warner-Frost Services for Families and Children.  We couldn’t understand how a parent could abandon something so young, so…sweet.”

Gavin’s throat clenched when his thumb brushed over the soft, discolored cheek of his child.  Her parted lips twitched into a smile for just a moment then relaxed again.  “Mia didn’t want to tell you that story.  She didn’t want you to know you were…abandoned.  She’s experienced the pain of family turning their backs to you, so she wanted to spare you by smoothing you with love.  We just…”

“It doesn’t hurt, though.  I…I don’t care if I was left.  All I care about is answers.  What hurt…is that you lied to me.”

“Forgive me, Nia,” whispered the man hoarsely.  He felt a small amount of weight leave his chest when she nodded, but his stomach lurched at her pained expression.

“Does…does Mama know about my DNA?”

Gavin exhaled.  “She doesn’t.  Not fully, anyways.”

“There’s going to be a lot for her to digest when she wakes up.  It’ll be months before she’s ready to meet the guys.”

“Nia—“

“They  _will_  meet!” interjected Nia with a stern look.  “I know she’ll love them.  Daddy, I…they’ve helped me so much—in ways you can’t fathom.  I feel safe and open around them.  Mister Splinter’s helped me with my migraines.  Michelangelo’s easy for me to get along with.  And Raphael…”  She stopped to bite her lower lip in a habit Gavin knew well.

“Regardless,” the redhead started monotonously, “this isn’t a place for you to live.  Reese and I talked briefly over the phone this morning.  He said he could get our names changed and our family relocated to a place where Bishop can’t reach us.”  Nia remained silent and still under her father’s warm gaze, and Gavin wrapped his arms around her for another hug.  “I’ll find a way to keep us safe.  Promise.”

“Why don’t you go see what the guys are up to, Daddy?” Nia asked in a voice muffled by her father’s shirt.  “I…I have someone I need to talk to.”

**━❖━**

With a bleak sigh, Splinter shifted against the coarse fabric of the armchair that cradled him.  His hardened eyes were focused on the many television screens ahead, his attention drawn to their happenings as one is drawn to the horrific assessment of a natural disaster.

“The city’s recovering well after this week’s strange strings of events,” a female anchorwoman said.  The name ‘Christa Neville’ glowed in red at the bottom of the screen next to the news channel and she smiled charmingly as a secondary screen appeared beside her head.  “As you can see from these helicopter shots, fire damages to stores have either been repaired or are well along the way.  Power’s now been restored to all affected areas after a thorough investigation by the New York Power Company, so people can enjoy the comforts of home once more.  The outage’s cause has yet to be identified; however, accounts of many across the city have given the rather ludicrous claim that a demon had risen with the purpose of wreaking havoc this Hollow’s Eve.” 

The picture beside Christa faded from shots of brick buildings to the over-contrasted image of an older gentleman with soft, almost baby-like features behind his wrinkled face.  Then, she continued.

“Police Commission Jeffrey Powell has denied these accusations in a press conference, although he never once admitted the danger was ordinary either.  According to him, the events from Monday night had been tempered thanks to a newly recognized organization known as The Earth Protection Force.  The leader of this organization, a one Agent Bishop—who had surprised the city with a cryptic message on October fourth—has formed a formal alliance with the New York State Police Force. 

“The Commissioner claims Bishop will aid the police in fights against threats much like the one that appeared last week.  This threat, mind you, they insist on keeping a mystery.  Bishop claimed in a brief interview that there are many more like it—whatever  _it_  is.   So many in fact that we, the general public—“

“Quiet, lady, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” commented Michelangelo from the couch.  The youngest Hamato snorted then the channel switched to classic cartoons.  It was a most welcomed change for the old rat.

“Unbelievable,” Leonardo spat, standing from his cushion seat between Michelangelo and Donatello.  “Bishop was about to commit cold-blooded murder and the city’s _praising_ him for it.  Where’s the justice?”

“True justice is rarely found in life, Leonardo,” Splinter answered solemnly.  He offered his son a smile when the blue-masked mutant turned his way.   “Agent Bishop will reap what he sows.  Eventually.  You stopped him this time.  Saved Nia-san.  Is that not enough?”  Leonardo looked away, a frown on his stern face that caused Splinter to grimace.  “Do not chalk this up to another failure.  You did not fail in what you had truly meant to achieve.”

“He’s right,” a smooth voice added. 

The rat’s gaze drifted towards a redheaded man who entered the Lair’s living room and now stood outside the family circle Splinter, Leonardo, Michelangelo, Donatello, April, and Casey had formed around the worn furniture.  His green eyes were not as cold as they had once been several days ago, though they obviously were not completely at ease with the site before them. 

He nodded towards Leonardo—a formal, stiff action.  “The point was to save my daughter, and you did that.  Thank you.”

“How wonderful that you can join us, Mister Anders,” Splinter said.

“Wish I could’a been there to show that jerk a thing or two,” Michelangelo jeered.  “Would’a been better than what Leo had us do.”

“We needed to cripple his team in case he called for backup,” Leonardo retorted.

“I know, I know,” the orange-masked mutant grumbled, pouting.

“It may not’ve been as glamorous as the role Leo played, but we did our part,” added Donatello at the farthest end of the couch.  He sipped from his coffee mug despite the late time then flashed Michelangelo a small grin.  “Nia’s back and recovering well.  She woke up after just two days, which is much sooner than expected.  Even Sensei and Mister Anders were asleep longer than that…”

Splinter noted the genius’ troubled glance at his mug and held in a sigh.  “My son, like last time, all I needed was sleep.  While our bodies are sore, there is nothing to worry about.”

“Of course,” the purple-masked Chūnin replied, though he could barely hide his touch of grief from his father.

“Speakin’ ‘a Nia; what are we gunna do about her?” asked Casey.

“What do you mean?” Leonardo inquired, his eyes locked on the human couple that sat on a beanbag chair beside the couch.

Casey leaned forward with April in his lap.  “Everything’s simmered down.  Bishop’s off makin’ a name for himself.  Kingston’s…dead.  An’ the Purple Dragon’s have got no oddah reason ta track her.”

“So now she has a choice,” April finished, soft.  “Bishop probably expects her to stay in New York.  Her best chance to stay hidden would be to change names and move states.  But…”

“That means she’d be leaving us,” added Mikey glumly.

A still silence overcame the group then.  Even the background noise of Jim and Terry seemed to have faded under its weight.  Splinter sighed when no one spoke up by a minute’s time and twisted his head towards Gavin.  A slight raspy sound escaped his throat as he did so, yet he bit back the discomfort, cleaning his air passage with a controlled cough.

“What do you believe Nia-san will do, Anders-san?”

“Can’t say.”  The human answered with a frown, and his gaze remained steady, in spite of his heavy sigh.  “I know what I want for her.  But somehow…I feel she wants to pursue the opposite.”

**━❖━**

Nia drew in a deep, shuddering breath then side-glanced.  Again.  Perhaps she’d done that action one too many times already, but who could blame her?  A fully-clothed Raphael joined her on a building’s ledge, yet he kept his vision fixed on the horizon as if it were hypnotizing him with its soft glow of lights.  Not once since they surfaced did he so much as glance at her, let alone speak. 

This left the young woman’s mind boggled.

‘ _He’s been acting weird ever since I woke up,_ ’ she thought, snuggling into her patchwork coat.  ‘ _It’s so…unsettling.  Everyone else has talked to me just fine.  Sure I’ve gotten some lectures, but even Leonardo’s said he’s glad I’m okay.  Raphael hasn’t done…anything_.’

When Raphael had asked Nia to go Topside, she’d thought for sure a scolding would ensue the moment the Lair’s steel doors closed.  But there was no such luck for her.  The mutant had remained silent, even after they dressed for the nippy November weather and left the sewers to climb a tall apartment building.

‘ _That was half an hour ago.  How long is he going to sit there?  Don’t tell me he took me out here to tort—_ ’

“How ya feelin’?” Raphael asked suddenly.  His tone sounded controlled, and he kept his eyes adverted for some unknown reason.

“F—fine,” Nia answered, her voice just above a whisper.  “I haven’t had a migraine in days.  It—it’s like I feel lighter almost, like a burden’s been taken from me.  Even though…it’s still there.”

“An’ yer shoulder?”

The young woman gingerly touched her collarbone with her gloved right hand, wincing at its tenderness.  “It burns.  Donatello says it’ll leave a nasty scar.”

“Do ya mind?”

“N—not really.  I have plenty of scars.  What’s one more?”  Nia sent Raphael a strained smile, but he only sighed.

“Don’t try ta write off what happened so easily.”  The natural gruff edge to his voice returned.  “Do ya got any idea what waitin’ for ya was like?  How many worst case scenarios were worked up in my head?  What it was like watchin’ ya—”  Pausing, Raphael ground his teeth as tight as the knot in Nia’s stomach.  He shook his head then snorted bitterly.  “Ya could’a  _died_  an’ it would’a been yer own fault!  Ya never should’a made the trade.”

Frowning, Nia brought her gaze to the glowing horizon as well.  “I—I told you that it was the right thing to do.  Besides, y—you didn’t deserve to be there.”

“An’ ya did?” Raphael snapped.  Nia sensed him glance at her for a moment before he scoffed.  “Ya’re so ridiculous.”

The black-haired female sighed.  “So I’ve been told.”

Another silence.

“What was it like?”

Nia faced Raphael, who finally tore his attention away from the city.  “E—excuse me?”

“The” —he struggled for his words— “Bein’ under the LSD.  What was it like?  What’d ya see?”

Nia wanted to break her gaze with Raphael, yet failed.  While part of her felt vulnerable under his piercing amber eyes, another part found comfort in them.  It was a strange sensation—one that demanded far more effort to understand than she could currently spare.

“It—I—uh…”  The artist inhaled loudly through her nose.  “It was frightening.  A—and not just because of the—the terrifying, ugly images I saw in place of reality.  But because of a loss of control.  Everything I saw, everything I came in contact with, exposed me more and more, like a raw nerve.

“I…I could feel myself slipping into the hallucinations.  I knew I needed to contain myself, yet…I was absolutely powerless to do anything except run.  It—it’s the worst…not being in control of yourself.  And now…now I know what happens when I really veer from balance…”

“I’m sorry ya had ta go through that,” Raphael managed with the awkwardness of one who didn’t apologize often.

Nia laughed half-heartedly.  “Me too.  But I’m alright now, thanks to everyone.  I—I still can’t believe how hard Mister Hugh worked for me.  He’s sacrificed so much personal time at work and home.  I—I hope he can patch things up with his wife.  He did spend hours talking with me yesterday when he was supposed to get ready for a date…”

“I'm sure he will.  From what I hear, the woman’s quite tolerable.  An’ when she can’t stand Reese’s ways any longer, she chokes him wit’ his own tie, kicks him in the nuts, an’ then drags him wherever she pleases.”

“…That’s a colorful image.”

“Yet still not as descriptive as some ‘a the ones yer father gives.”

“Yo—you’ve talked with Daddy?”  When Raphael grimaced, Nia reigned in her mild excitement, biting her chapped lip.

“In a manner ‘a speakin’.  He don’t seem keen on makin’ friends.”

“Leonardo said you threw a Scotch bottle at his head,” Nia noted dryly.

The red-masked ninja glared.  “ _He_  was the one bein’ an ass, alright?  Always givin’ me the stink eye an’ crap.”

“He’s just been worried.”

“So have I.  But I don’t go around callin’ oddahs unworthy.”

Sighing, Nia’s vision dropped to the stone roof.  “It’s Daddy’s means of coping.  At that point, he had neither me nor Mama.  And I know…he must’ve felt like he failed us.  It wasn’t you.”

Raphael regained Nia’s attention with an irritated groan.  “Doubt it.  The guy’s yet ta give me an honest look a—hell, even begrudged acknowledgement would work.  An’ he hasn’t held true ta his bargain.”

“What bargain?”

“Yer father owes me a bottle ‘a Scott.”

“Didn’t you toss that at his head?”

“It don’t work that way.  I’m serious, Anders, yer father hates me.  An’ I’ve given him no real reason ta…chucked bottle aside.”

A warm smile spread across Nia’s face.  “That’s Daddy, Raphael.  He’s a tough one to warm up to.  Mama says he was worse as a young man.”

“Ya’re kiddin’.”

“Nope.”

“That woman’s got an incomprehensible amount ‘a patience then.”

“Yeah, she does.”  Nia’s smile dropped in a matter of seconds, a vision of her comatose mother flashing like a jolt of lightning through her mind.

“She’s still in a coma…ain’t she?” Raphael stated more than asked.

The artist nodded.  “The doctors have no idea when or if she’ll wake.  The head trauma was severe, so all we can do is wait and pray…Hey, can I ask you something?”

Raphael quirked at eye ridge then smirked.  “Ya just did.”

“I mean a—a serious question,” countered Nia, frowning.

“Uh, sure,” the red-masked ninja said after a moment’s pause.

“Mikey said that while I was in Bishop’s hands you were excessively irritable and…drank a lot,” whispered Nia timidly.  She wrung her gloved hands in her lap, intent on keeping her misty vision on them rather than the inquiring mutant beside her.  “D—do you hate me for trying to be selfless?  For Yūki?  W—we haven’t talked at all until today, and our last conversation was…I was starting to think you never wanted to speak to me again because of what I did.”

“I don’t hate ya, Anders,” Raphael answered, stiff.  “I’ve been tryin’ ta figure out some things.  Besides, ya needed ta concentrate on yer family.  I just thought I should…”  With brief touch Raphael lifted Nia’s chin towards him.  “Ya wanna know why I was so angry?” 

Carefully, the young woman nodded and swallowed a hard lump that’d formed in her throat when the mutant’s calloused skin brushed her own.

“I ain’t good at explain’ myself,” he continued, stiffer than before.  “What I can say, is that I wasn’t angry ‘cuz ya were selfless or brave.  I was angry…’cuz I felt helpless.  An’ when I looked inta yer face, I thought back ta what Bishop had done ta Mikey a few years ago.  He had nightmares for months.  I—I didn’t want that for ya, I didn’t…”

Another lump formed in Nia’s throat, but this time she was unable to swallow it.  “Thank you, Raphael.  Though it may sound cheesy, your concern means a lot.  It really, really does.  But I honestly don’t remember my stay since Bishop kept me sedated most of the time.  I have no idea wh—what he did to me.”

“Could be for the best,” Raphael muttered, his ambers eyes darkening.

“Do you remember what he did to you?”

The ninja immediately shook his head, a growl deep in his throat.  “A few things.  Maybe not all, but…enough.  It’s nothin’ I can’t shoulder.”

“You sure?”  Unable to imagine such a thing, the young woman frowned.  Yet the offended glare Raphael flashed convinced her to drop the matter.  “Well, thanks again f—for saving me.  I—I can’t say it often enough.  Aside from that, I mean thank you…for all that you and your family have done for me these past months.”

“Ya certainly couldn’t have saved yerself,” added Raphael with a playful smirk.

“No, I couldn’t have.”  Nia paused then giggled.

“What?”

“N—nothing.  A thought just came to me.”

“Ya wanna share it?”

“Do you want to hear it?”  Raphael shrugged, which was as close to a ‘yes’ as Nia would ever get, so her grin remained strong, in spite of his nonchalant attitude.  “I was thinking how you and I are a lot like Yin and Yang.”

“Oh?”  His simple word held a genuine intrigue that brightened Nia’s smile.

“Don’t you think so?  You’re active, and hotheaded.  Rough.  And I’m—“

“Passive ‘n calm?”

“Y—yeah.”

“Ya know, this conversation could get really detailed,” Raphael remarked, chuckling.

“L—let’s try to keep it simple.  My point is Yin and Yang are literally as different as day and night.  To bring out the best in one, you need the contrast of the other.  They work in perfect harmony, c—compliment one another, and even give the other purpose.  Alone, they’re unbalanced like I feel when you aren’t—”

Nia bit her tongue then; she hadn’t meant for her words to piece themselves together so mischievously.  ‘ _Way to go, Nia!_ ’ her mind cried as she hesitantly drew her wide eyes away from the frozen Raphael.  ‘ _Could you be any blunter?  Oh, by the way, Raph, I feel more complete around you.  Maybe we should date to see if we fall in love.  Stupid!  Stupid!  Stupid!_ ’

“H—hey, ya’re gunna hurt yer shoulder!” Raphael yelled.

Only when a pair of large hands wrapped around Nia’s wrists did she realize she’d been hitting her head in frustration.  An overwhelming heat rose from her stomach to the tips of her ears, burning stronger the moment her arms were drawn down to her lap, which she stared at.  Her pulse thumped wildly in her ears, and her breathing grew difficult the longer the mutant remained still.

“C—c—can you please say something?” she questioned, soft and breathless.  “I—I didn’t mean to get weird.  Maybe I was thinking too much.  I—uh…”

“Don’t.”

“W—what?”

“Anders, I—“  Raphael’s grip on Nia’s wrist tightened just enough that she could feel his slight tremble.  “Ya can’t say things like that.”

“I—I know.  It’s silly.”

“That ain’t what I meant.  Its…it’s disappointin’.”

Nia’s thick brows drew together as she finally lifted her gaze.  She focused on Raphael’s amber eyes, which remained fixed on the connection he had on her wrists.  They weren’t as relaxed or mildly annoyed like usual.  In fact, their intense, almost hesitant, gleam left butterflies in her stomach and a stone in her throat.

“Why’s it disappointing?” she whispered.

The grip tightened even further.  “Maybe I’m assumin’ too much, but…words like that give me hope for—”  He sighed.  “Just don’t speak offhandedly around me.  Even if ya meant it like _that_ , it’d still hurt.”

“Wh—what are you talking about?”  Nia bent down to catch his attention, yet he looked away as soon as she did.  “Raph—“

“Ya’re movin’, right?” the mutant asked aggressively.  The young woman frowned as he gritted his teeth and continued.  “I talked wit’ yer father this mornin’.  He’s right; it’s over.  Ya got every reason ta leave the city.  Ya won’t be here much longer, so don’t—“

“Who says I’m leaving?”  Now, Nia caught Raphael’s eyes.

“Bishop—“

“Won’t stop hunting as long as he lives.  In the end, maybe his determination will get us all, but”—with an honest smile on her reddened face, Nia twisted her forearms so she could grip Raphael’s thick wrists as well—“if that happens, I don’t want to be alone in some far-away state.  While my parents would be there…it wouldn’t be the same anymore.  I want to stand together with everyone.  I want to be  _here_ , with my family, my friends, with…”

The last word caught on Nia’s tongue like a thorn.  Immediately, her voice left, and a long pause followed.

“I—I’ve talked wit’ Don,” Raphael awkwardly started after clearing his throat.  “Before ya ‘n I went ta the Empire State Buildin’ last month.   He told me not ta miss my chance, that ya’re…a rare opportunity.”

“A—an opportunity for what?”

Raphael had no reason to answer, really.  His pursed mouth and searching eyes told her all that he could never fully explain.

So Nia nodded her understanding and allowed her budding hope to flower across her blushing features.  “Do you feel that way?  That I can be…?”

“Depends,” the mutant countered with a barely confident smirk.  “What about Nolan?”

“Who?”

“Nick Nolan.  The fabulous tutor ya told me ya had a crush on.”

Nia chuckled timidly then moved her shaky hands so they rested in Raphael’s rough palms.  “A tutor isn’t as cool as a ninja.”

“Is that the only reason ya like me?  For my ninja skills?”

“No.”  Nia’s grin died along with the mutant’s smirk, yet she felt lighter rather than heavier under the serious weight of the atmosphere.  “I like you for far more reasons than that, Raphael.  They’re the same reasons that make me feel stronger and…safe.  I—I’ve never experience such with Nick.”

“Good.”  Raphael must’ve spoken quicker then intended because he cleared his throat and straightened his spine a fraction, his cheeks flushing a darker shade of evergreen.  “Means I won’t have ta beat him up ta make a point.”

“Wh—what point?”

“That ya’re taken.”

If Raphael hadn’t caught her arm, Nia would’ve swooned off the building’s edge; her body felt that hot.  Never would she have thought so much joy, disbelief, and longing could stem from a simple statement.  And when the mutant’s touch trailed from her upper arm to her jaw line, she thought for sure she’d throw up.

Somehow, the nausea was kept at bay by a captivating amber gaze that lured her close with its spell.  Nia’s eyes closed the moment Raphael’s image grew blurry, and then their mouths brushed.  A tingle of adrenaline curled Nia’s toes and stole the breath from her lugs, yet the sensation of her lips against the almost leather-like texture of the male’s mouth left her numbed with happiness by the time they slowly parted.

“Did that feel weird?” Raphael asked, breathless.

Nia gave a mystified smile.  “No.”

And they both leaned in for another kiss.


	36. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A final goodbye for a trying time. God bless these guys and their big hearts. D:

 

* * *

 **L** eonardo gripped Michelangelo’s wool jacket, forcing his brother back behind a large gravestone.  “Mikey, you’ll get us caught,” Leo hissed behind his scarf.

“But, Leo, those are—“

“I know who they are.  But—”

“You don’t want them to know we were involved.”

The Jonin sighed then placed a hand on Mikey’s shoulder.  “We came here for closure.  Talking with them would only stir things up.  Besides—”

“Didn’t ya say Jezebel freaked ya out?” Raphael asked.  Dressed in his own fall attire, the hothead leaned against a gravestone towards the left and flashed a smirk at his baby brother.

“She did,” answered Michelangelo.  “It’s just…now that we know they’re the daughters of Ellen Summers, I—”

“Want to apologize,” Donatello finished.  His voice could barely be heard through the many layers over his head, which revealed only his kind eyes.

“Yeah,” the youngest added.

“Believe me, Mikey,” Leo said, “it’s better this way.”

Thus, the ninjas fell silent in wait of their opportunity.  Soon enough, the chatting women rose from the grass and followed the path littered with dead leaves out of Montefiore Cemetery.  Leonardo noticed the shame in Michelangelo’s eyes as he watched the duo leave hand-in-hand.  It was the same shame that kept his chest tightened.

‘ _No more guilt,_ ’ the Jonin thought with a thorough shake of his head.  ‘ _Tonight, I cleanse myself of that.  We all will._ ’

“Donny?” he whispered.

The purple-masked Chūnin nodded then dug into his deep pockets to produce some shuriken.  He sent them sailing from behind the large gravestone towards the lamppost that illuminated the hill in a dingy shade of yellow.  A subtle crackle followed the sound of shattering glass before darkness coated the area.  Leo admitted he felt a little uneasy about destroying public property.  Still, his brother’s absolute concealment amongst the open field required some sacrifices.

He nodded his thanks to Don then motioned for the brothers to follow suit.  They formed a line at two rounded headstones.  The engraved names were barely detectable, though Leonardo knew what they said.

_Here lies Ellen Summers.  January 17, 1963 – July 20, 2011.  Dutiful mother.  Valued friend.  Forever will be missed._

_Here lies David Summers.  May 16, 2002 – July 20, 2011.  Cherished brother.  Taken from us far too soon.  Forever will be missed._

These words had been engraved in Leonardo’s mind for months.  He knew the same was true for his brothers as well.  But although the memory was haunting, Leo didn’t wish to forget the humans.  Rather, he sought to lock their memory away in a safe place, where they could no longer drive him mad.

“I’m sorry,” whispered Leo, shaky.  He could say no more.

“I like to believe you can forgive us,” Don added.  “We really did all we could.”

“Even though it may not’ve seemed it,” grumbled Raph, “we did.”

“And now we’re freeing ourselves of the grueling responsibility we were never meant to take on because everyone’s suffered enough,” Mikey concluded.

Leonardo bowed, a stoic expression on his face.  He sensed his brothers do likewise, and after a long moment he straightened his body.

“Alright,” he said.  “Let’s go home.”

“Ew, why?” asked Michelangelo.  He jumped to wrap an arm around Raphael’s broad shoulders.  “So we can watch lover boy here make goo-goo eyes at Nia like some creeper?”

Leo shook his head at the backslap Raph graced his younger brother with.  The wrestling match that then took place was expected, and the Jonin could only smile when Donatello scolded the duo.  The squabble was…comforting, nostalgic.  Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the Hamato brothers had found balance.

**━❖━**

“Your ties were cut cleanly then?” a smooth, feminine voice questioned.  While it didn’t echo off the confines of such a small office, it held an eerie weight behind the desk all the same.

Annabelle smirked at her newest employer.  “Naturally, Misses Tate.  Didn’t I say I was capable?  It took months, but I got what you wanted.  Thanks to big-mouth Murphy.  And Doctor Gaertner.”  Pausing, Annabelle’s smirk fell under the reminder of so much tedious work.  “I swear, though, I was about to lose my mind with how Bishop pushed Patrick and I to find this one rouge, Rizzo.  Apparently he stole something important from South America.  I don’t get what could be so important as to require—“

“I don’t _care_ about South America, Miss Lombardo,” Misses Tate snapped.  She shifted her perfect posture then sighed.  “What matters is that you’ve earned a place inside the Black Lotus Organization.  With the files stolen from Bishop, we can finally push through the infection stage of our experiments.  Cures will be right around the corner.”  The Indian woman giggled, more like a schoolgirl than the CEO of a renowned medical practice.  “Our sacrifices will finally pay off.  And our benefactors can stop returning their merchandise for repair.”

“Yes,” the carrot-top said.  “The next batch of cyborgs will be perfect.  I’ll see to it personally.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, yes, I leave you with a cliffhanger. It leads into the next book "Hollow Hearts", which I may not edit it like this one before posting. It's just...a lot of work. And I have so many projects. So. It's not, like, terrible, just a little different from how I write now (2016) from back then (2013/2014). 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this book and continue on with this long, long series... ^ u^*


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